#lucien: Your my mate. *tried to give her a jacket*

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Fireleaf (Part Twenty-Three)

Oh, @greeneyedivy and I are SO not ready for this 😭😭😭. The LAST PART. It has been such a pleasure having you readers come along this journey with us. Right from the very first conversations Ivy and I had, when Fireleaf was just a little idea, we knew it was going to be something special. We've enjoyed every second of working on this story, and we thank you all so, so much for the comments, the likes, the reblogs, the asks. We appreciate you and love you all, and we hope you enjoy this final chapter!

And Ivy, my love, my soulmate, my moon and stars, my braincells, I thank you for writing this with me, for sharing your brilliant brain and ideas and coming together with me to write the Lucien fic we so badly wanted in our lives. I love you wildly 💋.

Warnings: None.

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Dion and Willow were officially, finally, mated.

Their bond, your sister had told you in an excited letter sent to Dayview Cottage, had snapped into place when they, too, had decided to take a vacation. 

And though you and Lucien had taken an entire, much-needed month to just be together, you were looking forward to seeing everyone. To celebrating. To see what the new era of the Autumn Court was like.

“Hold still.” You murmured to Lucien, your faces inches apart. He’d watched your reflection in the mirror applying gold shimmer to your face, and had decided that he wanted to match.

“I couldn’t get any more still if I tried.” Your mate snorted back.

“You’re a fidget.” You dabbed at his cheeks, the gold absolutely resplendent against the tone of his skin. You leaned in to plant a quick kiss to his lips. “But a very pretty one.”

You couldn’t be more excited for Dion and Willow’s mating ceremony. A night of eating and drinking and dancing and just enjoying that the worst was behind you all. And after that, you were ready — ready to throw yourself into whatever the future held.

With both you and Lucien dressed up to the nines, the two of you stepped back to survey yourselves, side-by-side in the mirror. Your dress was of the same burgundy shade as the tailored jacket he wore. You’d both left your hair flowing down around your shoulders, little flowers pinned within — which Lucien had also insisted on joining in with. And with the shimmering gold on your faces, the sunlight streaming through the window, the love that radiated off of you both…

“We look…” you blinked, lost for words.

“Like a king and queen.” Lucien finished with a smile. “Or a High Lord and High Lady. Perhaps we should start our own court.”

You snorted. “A court of chaos.”

“A court of flowers and gold.”

You reached out, touching that gold that lined his cheeks, his outer eyes. “A court of poems and sonnets.”

And those russet eyes…emotion filled them. Love. Happiness.

“A court of always and forever.” He grabbed your hand. “Come, my queen. We have a ceremony to attend.”

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They’d opted for an evening ceremony, when the colours of the court were at their greatest. It was as though the day’s sunlight had lent its vibrancy to the various shades of autumn, painting a landscape that was simply breathtaking.

Almost as breathtaking as Willow in her gown. 

Ivory and jewelled, every drop of light seemed coaxed towards her. And she — she was glowing. As was Dion.

They made an utterly stunning couple, and that feeling of rightness that radiated from them, their love…you knew that you and Lucien must give off the same feeling. And proudly so. 

The ceremony felt intimate, despite the many people who had gathered to attend. The temple in which it was held was bathed in the buttery evening light, shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows and seeming to cast a spotlight on Dion and Willow, and the priestess who had been selected to swear them officially mated. And gathered on the seats to watch the ceremony — your family.

Not the one you’d been born into. There was no sign of your mother or your other sisters, and it didn’t bother you one bit. Everyone you cared for was there, in that room. Eris and Linden. Catrin and Helion. Members of the Vanserra household’s staff that you were all equally fond of. And to tie it all up — you finally had the pleasure of meeting the other two Vanserra brothers, Lux and Hale.

It said a lot that they hadn’t rushed back upon Beron’s death, but were here for the ceremony, wives and children in tow. It was a relief that your introductions hadn’t given off any negative feelings, not made any alarm bells ring. It seemed that Lux and Hale were another two decent Vanserras. And had absolutely no qualms about the fact that Beron had been killed, and by Eris, no less.

And so, Dion and Willow swore their eternal love and loyalty to each other, their hands joined as the priestess announced them Cauldron-blessed. And with a chorus of applause and well-wishes echoing through the temple as they sealed their vows with a kiss, you weren’t surprised to find your eyes tearing up.

Such a journey you’d all been on. So much you’d all had to withstand. And yet here you were — you with your love, and your sister with hers.

Beron Vanserra had tried to break you. Had tried to destroy what you’d dared to dream of having. And now you had it — the happy ending. You all did. And he would never again be around to ruin it. 

You caught both Dion and Willow in a tight embrace, barely able to congratulate them around the lump in your throat. But when Lucien wrapped his arms around the three of you…when the four of you squeezed each other and truly stepped back to look at what you’d lived to experience—

You’d never felt happiness like it.

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The true celebration began when the sun had set, and everyone had sat down for the feast. 

The air held nothing but a sting of pure elation as you ate and drank and talked, the various voices of your loved ones all mingling together to create the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard. There was nobody in that room that didn’t deserve to be there — that didn’t belong. And as you sat at a table with your mate and his brothers, getting to know Lux and Hale and their wives, their children running around excitedly whilst you talked, your sense of family only strengthened. 

This was home. This was love. 

Soon, the food was gone, making way for the best part of the evening — the music and the dancing. A live band of minstrels played fast, excited music amongst the beauty of the gardens, and it wasn’t long before most were gathered on the grass, their clothes a flurried flash of colour as they spun and danced and cheered, the flames of lit pyres casting such brilliant, intimate light. Every song was better than the last, every dance more freeing.

It was in the gardens that you found Linden — leaning against a wall, a wine glass in his hand as he watched the dancing. 

Or rather — you realised, as you followed his line of sight — as he watched Eris dancing.

You sidled up to your friend, easing his chalice from his hand and finishing the drink off in one huge gulp. He gaped at you in comical outrage, reaching out to gently pinch your arm.

“Asshole.” He admonished playfully. “I was drinking that.”

Your eyebrows flicked up. “Were you? It seems to be that the wine went warm while you were busy ogling the High Lord.”

Linden scowled. “I wasn’t ogling, I was just…”

“Ogling.”

The two of you stared at each other, a beat passing—

And then threw your heads back in laughter at the same. Linden pulled you into his side, draping his arm around your shoulder.

“Okay. Perhaps I was ogling a little. He’s a very pretty High Lord.” A smirk played on his lips. “Where is your lover boy?”

“Right now?” Your eyes flicked around the huge gardens, looking for any sign of where Lucien had got to. “I believe he’s happily being chased by a group of children. I don’t have the heart to break it up.”

You felt the chuckle that rumbled through Linden as he continued to hold you against him. And you contentedly sunk into the embrace, savouring his warmth, his scent.

You’d lost so much time with him when he’d been sent away. Never again would you lose that contact.

It was as though he’d read your thoughts as he pulled back, angling himself to study you. And despite the comfort and ease you’d always felt with him, in that moment, you felt strangely…self-conscious, under the intensity of his gaze.

“…What?” You asked, running a hand over the tight, hugging fabric of your dress.

“You’ve been through so much.” Linden murmured, rare emotion sparking in his eyes that instantly replaced the humour. “So much in that time I was away. All those years I spent training you…strengthening you…I never could have imagined what you’d have to eventually face. What you’d have to use that strength for.”

Pink dusted your cheeks as you dipped your head. “You taught me well. It was the strength that you gave me…thoughts of you…that got me through it. I never forgot what you said when you gave me that braid.”

He smiled — though it soon dropped. “I’m just—sorry, Y/N. That I didn’t come sooner. That I—”

“Enough of that.” Your hand flew up to cup over his mouth, halting his words in their tracks. “We were both victims of circumstance. Of my father’s schemes. But looking back on it now, I think…I think I needed to face it on my own. To learn what strength I truly had.”

Your dear, closest friend stared at you, the regret in his eyes eddying and shifting into warmth. Softness. Pride.

“I firmly believe,” you said, removing your hand from his mouth, “that everything happened exactly the way it needed to. Even the painful, lonely parts. The parts when I wasn’t sure I could get through it. I think…I think I had to face those things to get where I am now, Linden. And I couldn’t be happier—”

Your words cut off with a whoosh of air escaping you as he yanked you closer to him, wrapping his broad, muscled arms around you and squeezing you tight. His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, and he pressed your face against his chest. Pressed a kiss to your hair.

“I am so fucking proud of you.” He said quietly — just loud enough for only you to hear over the music. “So proud. You are brave, Y/N, and you are strong. And I cannot think of anyone more worthy of this happy ending.”

Tears warmed your eyes, and you pulled back to look at him, your arms still wrapped around him. “And what of you? What’s your happy ending?”

You didn’t think he was even aware that his gaze immediately made its way over to Eris, still dancing and showing no signs of stopping. Linden seemed to consider your words for a moment, his head cocked slightly.

“I’m not at all sure.” He admitted softly. “The future is always uncertain, no? But…but for now, I have a reason to stay here. And I feel excited to explore that.”

You could already see it — Eris, High Lord of the Autumn Court, and Linden at his side. The two made a stunning pair. And perhaps Eris was the home that Linden had spent over two centuries searching for.

At the mere thought of it, you almost succumbed to your emotions again — until a burst of excited giggles sounded nearby, and both you and Linden looked up to watch Lucien happily zipping through the hedges, his nephews and nieces hot on his trail.

Linden chuckled, loosening his hold on you slightly. “What’s next for the two of you, then? Children?”

You blinked. “Cauldron, no. I’d like…I’d like to live first. To just…be with my mate. And to see what the world is like when I’m not watching it through the bars of a golden cage.”

His smile was so utterly brilliant as he placed a kiss on your forehead. “I can’t wait to see what you do with the world.”

Before you could think of a reply, Eris was suddenly flouncing over to you, his cheeks flushed and his hair tousled. He met Linden’s eyes briefly, sharing a heated smile that was too intimate for your eyes, before he turned to you. 

“Care to dance with me, sister?” He held out a hand.

Your heart immediately warmed — not just at that word, but…but at the memory. All that time ago, now, at the Harvest Festival, when Eris had asked you the same then, too. 

Neither of you had known, at that time, the bond that would be built between you. 

One that you knew you would never, ever let go of.

It was with a great, unguarded smile that you placed your hand in his and squeezed.

“It would be my pleasure.” 

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You didn’t know how long you and Eris spent dancing, your feet eventually beginning to ache and the heat of the nearby pyres causing sweat to roll down your neck and back. But eventually, the fast-paced music slowed into something gentler, and you smiled as the two of you followed its lead, falling into a more languid dance that offered you the space to talk as you moved around the other dancing bodies.

“You look beautiful.” Eris told you earnestly, fond eyes flicking over you. “I hope my brother told you that.”

You laughed softly. “He tells me multiple times a day.”

“Ah — you’ve trained him well.”

The two of you shared a grin, yours shifting into a softer smile as you stared back at him. “You look beautiful, too.”

Indeed, he looked every bit the honourable High Lord he’d always been. A tailored suit of the deepest red and gold brocade, a crown of twining autumn leaves atop his head, and the strength and pride that shone in his amber eyes—

Magnificent. Eris Vanserra — your High Lord, your friend, your brother — was truly magnificent.

“And how is it?” You squeezed his hand. “Being the most important person in the entire court, and all.”

He snorted. “It’s a fucking chore. I’ve never drowned in so much paperwork. I’ve almost lost my voice multiple times, from the sheer amount of people I have to talk to. Sometimes, I’m so tired that I fall asleep sitting up — eating dinner.” He paused, his eyes glancing over your head…to Linden. “But I find that I’m actually enjoying it. Perhaps because of who I get to do it with.”

Something squeezed tightly in your heart. The realisation, perhaps, that things couldn’t have turned out more perfectly for your close unit than it had.

There had been pain. Tragedies. A senseless loss of three innocent lives.

But together, you would all live for them. Together, you would make your court into something everyone could be proud of.

Eris suddenly pinched your side, and you raised an eyebrow. “And what of you?” He asked.

“What of me?” You shot back.

“How is it being a wife?”

Your feet stuttered in their movements, causing you to stumble so clumsily that Eris had to right your stance. You blinked up at him to find him smirking at you, mischief shining in his eyes.

“You little shit, how did you know?” You asked.

You’d deliberately kept the news a secret and surprise, not wanting to steal the thunder of Dion and Willow’s ceremony. 

But it had been that same night that you’d officially accepted your mating bond that Lucien had gazed at you, his fingers rubbing soothing circles into your skin — and asked you to marry him.

And you, of course, had accepted. 

You didn’t want a big ceremony. Not after all the planning you’d had to sit through for your wedding with Dion. The thought of months of planning a big event, just for the satisfaction of those you’d have to invite, made you recoil.

You just…wanted to be Lucien’s mate. And his wife. And so it was that very next morning that the two of you had gone to a temple alone, dressed in nothing but casual, everyday clothes, and had a priestess swear you not only mated, but wed. 

Lucien Vanserra — your mate and husband. You still couldn’t get your head around how lucky you were.

But the two of you had hidden your rings for the duration of Dion and Willow’s ceremony. You gaped at Eris—

“How did you know?” You asked again.

“One of the first tasks I wanted to face as High Lord,” Eris answered, “was to visit the various temples across the courts and begin discussions of repairs and renovations that my father neglected for years to arrange. He held no regard for the priestesses and their beliefs — and he allowed a lot of their temples to waste away over the centuries. It was during one of these visits that a priestess enthusiastically offered me congratulations on yours and Lucien’s nuptials — not realising, of course, that the two of you had kept it to yourselves.”

You snorted, hiding your face against his shoulder as your cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry. We didn’t want a big ceremony…after everything.”

“What could you possibly have to be sorry for?” He paused, pulling back to stare at you. “After all the two of you have been through, it seemed only right that you had something just for yourselves. Weddings are a chore, anyway. I’m happy for you.”

You swallowed hard, sure your eyes were glistening again. “Thank you.”

“And I’m absolutely honoured to officially welcome you to the family.” He grinned. “Mrs.Vanserra.”

You blinked, still not entirely used to the title. You’d not found yourself in a situation, yet, where you’d needed to be referred to by your new surname. 

It sounded…strange. Wonderfully so. And right.

“You know,” you cleared the lump from your throat, “there was a time when I dreaded the day I would be called that. Now…now I couldn’t be more proud.”

“Because you married the right Vanserra.” He squeezed your hand. “And you’re going to have a sickeningly happy life together, just as you deserve to.”

Never, under the heat of a thousand fucking suns, could you have predicted such an outcome. On that first night that you’d been at the estate, when you’d stumbled upon Lucien reading in the forest…never would you have thought that he would be the one to become your husband. Or your mate.

Perhaps you should have had an inkling — with how drawn you’d been to him, right from that first encounter. 

Be it fate or the Cauldron or the Mother…the path you’d journeyed, even at its toughest, deepest cracks in the road, had been the one you’d needed to traverse to get where you were now.

You had no regrets. Not a single one.

“And you and Linden…” You smiled up at him — your brother-in-law. “Perhaps one day, we’ll be revisiting this conversation, and you’ll be calling yourself Eris—”

“Y/N!”

Upon the interruption, the two of you glanced up…just in time to see Lucien hurrying over to you, hands firmly steadying the little girl who was perched on his shoulders…and who was sprinkling daisies in his hair.

“Look.” Your mate beamed at you, entirely in his element. “Hana and I made daisy chains.”

You stared at your mate. 

And then turned to meet Eris’s gaze.

And you knew — you damn well knew, as the two of you threw your heads back and laughed loud enough to drown out the music, that you were both thinking the same thing.

Thinking back to that conversation you’d had with Eris all that time ago, not long after you and Lucien had first slept together.

To what Eris had said to you: we don’t have the luxury or freedom to go gallivanting around fields and making daisy chains, or whatever it is that Lucien does in his spare time—

The two of you laughed. And laughed and laughed and laughed until your stomachs hurt, until tears were escaping your eyes.

And Lucien just blinked at you. “What did I say?”

Eris snorted, shaking his head. His laughter was still choking him slightly as he let go of you, pushing you towards your mate.

“Dance with your wife, brother.” He said. “And stop hogging our niece. I want to dance with Hana.”

Poor Lucien still looked bewildered as Eris reached up, plucking his niece from his brother’s shoulders and setting her gently on the ground. And the sight of him tenderly leading her into a dance, holding onto her little hands and guiding her feet whilst she spun around in her dress — your heart damn near burst out of your chest at the sight.

But then Lucien was spinning you around to face him, planting his hands on your waist. You grinned up at him, holding back another laugh at the smattering of daisies in his hair.

He pushed his lips into a playful pout. “Why are you laughing at me, mate?”

Because you were happy. Elated. Because you could finally breathe and imagine a future. One that you’d chosen for yourself. 

But you merely pushed up onto the tips of your toes, a smile still on your lips as you kissed the love of your life.

“I’m not.” You said softly. “I just love you.”

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Hours upon hours passed, with no signs of the celebrations slowing. 

You enjoyed every second of it. Dancing with Lucien, and then Dion, and then Willow. Sitting down on the blanket that Catrin and Helion occupied and enthusiastically speaking to them, drinking down their stories. Getting to know even more about your other brothers-in-law and their lives, their histories. And you and Linden chasing the children through the wildflowers and joining their hands to dance in a circle whilst the sweet sound of childlike laughter mingled with the ongoing music.

It was easily one of the happiest nights of your life.

And when the sky began to lighten…when things finally began to wind down, and the children had curled up around Catrin and Helion and fallen asleep, and guests had begun to return home, and Linden and Eris and Dion and Willow each broke away from the group to go off in their couples…you grabbed Lucien by the hand and tugged him away with you. 

The two of you settled atop a knoll covered in vibrant wildflowers, and it was there that Lucien slotted you between his legs and you happily, quietly, watched the sun rise over the court, painting the sky in peachy hues. 

A new day for all of you. A new era. The rising of the sun felt beautifully symbolic, and for a long, long while, you and Lucien didn’t need to speak a word. You were content to just lie in the grass and flowers together, his fingers rubbing soothing circles into your skin. 

Day had truly broken by the time he angled you to look at him. And his russet eyes were brilliant and unguarded as he gazed at you.

“The book,” he said — the first words he’d spoken since you’d nestled down on that knoll, “the book of poems and sonnets.”

You reached out, idly playing with the braid he now wore every day. “What of it?”

For a moment, he seemed to ponder his words. And then he smiled…somewhat coyly. “I don’t know…it sounds a little silly, but…I began to wonder if that book was a prophecy, somehow. Of our story. Each of my favourite poems from that book — that I knew by heart before I even met you — seem strangely…accurate…to us.”

Your head fell into a tilt. “How so?”

He laid back, pulling you down with him. And his fingers slid into the strands of your hair as he stared up at the morning sky.

“The tempered glow of moonlit skies, sketched waltzes in his lover’s eyes, and no immortal heart did dance, the way his did so thoroughly.” He recited, the words smooth like silk. “That one reminds me of the masquerade ball — when we first kissed.”

You smiled, perching your chin on his chest. Gazing up at him. “And what else?”

“And in the storm, however brief, he bared himself for soil and leaf, and skin-to-skin he branded her deep, with all his flames that burned beneath — that one reminds me of the hunting trip. When we bedded down in that cave for the night and…kept each other warm.” He squeezed you. “And it goes on…a mossy cave that swallowed light, was where they bedded down that night, and as she slept, her face to his, he knew he’d never win their fight. And it’s strange…because I remember watching you sleep that night…looking so soft and gentle…and thinking that there was no way I was going to be able to fight off my feelings.”

Slowly, your fingers inched up to his face, dancing over his jaw, his lips. The words sent a shiver down your spine…such beautifully accurate words. 

It was almost as though that ancient, beaten-up copy of Poems and Sonnets Volume II had, indeed, prophesied the journey that you and Lucien would be taken on.

“I love that book.” You hummed softly, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It makes me think of that first time I saw you…reading it against that tree, and looking effortlessly beautiful while doing so. I found you breathtaking.”

His lips twitched beneath yours. “Even though I was terribly rude to you?”

“I think it intrigued me even more.”

The two of you laughed, your eyes meeting and just…staring. Drinking each other in, bathed in that early morning light. Your happiness glowed even brighter than the sun.

“There was one more poem…” Lucien murmured, his breath fanning your face. “One more that always stuck in my mind.”

You brushed your thumb over his cheek. “Tell me.”

He paused, eyes scanning your face. And then he sucked in a slow breath, as though he was…nervous. “…For she was love, and lust, and hate. The lightning storm that souls create. And what chased him nightly from his sleep — the truth. She was, in fact, his mate.”

You stared at him, a lump rising in your throat.

And Lucien stared back at you.

And you only became aware of your tears as your vision blurred, and Lucien was reaching out to wipe the teardrops from your cheeks. Reaching out to kiss them away with his lips.

It was your story. Poems and Sonnets Volume II was, somehow, your story. 

It had all been there, perched in Lucien’s hands, from the first moment you’d laid eyes on him. A beautiful telling of what was to come.

And you were thankful for it all — even the bad parts, the hard parts. The parts that had seen you curling yourself up to cry yourself to sleep at night.

Because every bit of it had lent itself to this outcome — you and Lucien here, now. In love. Mates. Husband and wife.

Lucien Vanserra. He was yours, and you were his.

It was a purely happy sob that choked you as you told him, “I love you so much.”

And those beautiful russet eyes shone brighter than any sun possibly could.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips. A promise of forever.

“I love you, too, my fireling.”

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lucien tag list: @brekkershadowsinger @sillycrownlady @ruler-of-hades @lectoradefics @lucyysthings @littlemoonash @janzquu @carmelalikestoread @cathyac @tasha2627 @elkessecretplace @inkyvelvet @acourtofthought @zazite95 @antisocialcookie16 @sehalpha25 @fuckthatfeeling @adamgetawaydriver @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @lostpirateinwonderland @scrunklybunny @owllover123 @vangoghsbaby @goodbyemilkyway @babyimagangsta2 @cynicalpotato95 @draguta @pee-stachio @rem-ie @mateobneun-rattattui

[acourtofthought]

My eyes were bleeding after putting together the above post yesterday, staring at the screen so long, so I didn't add any thoughts to it all.

But that man......

Every single line with Lucien is categorized in one of a few ways.

He's either sarcastic, sassy or witty.

He speaks up in bravery when others can't / won't do it for themselves. There are multiple examples of this in ACOTAR where he tells the Attor to burn in Hell for Tamlin (it literally says "Lucien replied for Tamlin). He spits at the feet of the most powerful High Lord in the history of Prythian and tells him to watch his mouth when he threatens his mother. He stood up to Amarantha on multiple occasions and was punished every single time. He tried to stand up for Feyre even though Tamlin punished him for it.

However, he knows when to keep his mouth shut in order to show respect when it's necessary. Think about it. Tamlin, Rhys, Amarantha, knowing what they had done or could do to him, he still stood his ground and spoke his mind as much as possible.

Yet with Amren, Nesta, Az, and Graysen, he kept his mouth shut. Nesta probably deserved to be told off for the way she treated Lucien around Elain yet he never said anything to her. I'm guessing Lucien suspects something is going on with Az especially because Az can't seem to stop himself from acting moody whenever Lucien's name is mentioned (I doubt he's any better when they're face to face) yet Lucien hasn't called him out. He's never done anything to Graysen even knowing his identity versus Cassian who wants Tomas's name to hunt him down.

He's willing to let go of old prejudices. How quickly, after learning the NC wasn't his enemy, was he going out of his way to make himself useful to the IC? Asking if he might offer advice in the upcoming High Lords meeting, offering to do research, offering to look over the maps, offering to find Vassa.

He's loving to his friends. Even knowing Feyre was hiding something, he still went out of his way to comfort her when he thought she was having a nightmare. Knowing she just destroyed the court that was his home, he still ensured she was warm by giving her his jacket while he was left shivering. He speaks highly of his friend at Dawn Court. He speaks highly of Vassa. He speaks highly of Jurian, expressing gratitude for him. Tamlin abused him yet he's still going out of his way to be there for him, as Tamlin once did for him.

People love trying to spin it as if he's got a thing for Vassa but the truth is, he' just openly expresses affection for those that are important to him. He wasn't blushing over his feelings for Vassa but blushing because Feyre was making it out to be something it wasn't while in front of his mate.

He embodies the "brave, strong, protector / provider" type: he hunts, he fishes, he camps, he rides horses, he can be a warrior when it's necessary, he talks sports with the group. But he's also a distinguished gentlemen: he's well dressed, well spoken, polite, refined, appreciates quality, etc.

And he is intelligent. Feyre is constantly noting how he's always observing, calculating, watching, thinking. Rhys even shows approval for Lucien's plans and ideas. Rhys, the king of schemes, acknowledges Lucien to be clever like a fox. Finally getting his POV is going to be the most exciting thing ever.

He is the son of a powerful mother from Autumn and the son of a High Lord from a different court.

He is nothing but respectful to Elain. He's a bit awkward around her which I find to be adorable because he's so uncertain as to how to approach this female he's so drawn to, who almost makes him lose control every time he's near, and who he's sure doesn't want him because she was in love with another man. He's giving her distance to figure out what she wants while subtly making it known that he's not given up. He brings her beautiful gifts and tries so hard to hide his longing and disappointment though it's evident to anyone looking.

SJM broke the mold with this one.

[emeraldvagabond]

Y’all remember that one time Sarah said she was going to make Nesta and Lucien mates originally? It shoulda stayed like that.

[separatist-apologist]

I Can Go Anywhere I Want, Just Not Home

Summary: Elain and Lucien fight to see who is pettiest. Eris gives Elain a pep-talk. Lucien gets some things off his chest.

NSFW

Part 1

Part 1 | AO3

Lucien:

Lucien plopped in front of Helion, the picture of bored grace. Helion stared, his expression unreadable. The High Lord of Day had his fingers steepled in front of his face, likely doing the exact same thing Lucien was: looking for proof. He was furious he’d never realized it before…he and Helion had the same face. Only the eye and hair were different, though Helion thick, shoulder length locks seemed to fall in just the same way his own did. Even their build was the same, right down to the height. 

“I didn’t expect to see you this soon…or suddenly,” Helion finally said, leaning back in a white leather chair. He wore a toga, the thin strip of fabric just barely covering his chest. Lucien had no intention of adopting the dress of Day…or anything else within it.

“I only came because you were harsh with my mother,” he replied, crossing an ankle over his knee. “There’s no need for that.”

Helion’s amber eyes bored into his skull. “You don’t think she ought to have mentioned I had a son? An heir?”

“You didn’t become High Lord a century ago,” Lucien snapped. “You were, what? A courtier's son? Why would she risk her life for such a low born male?”

“It’s a crime in every territory for a female to conceal a child. Or have you forgotten?” Helion asked, his voice sending a thrill of fear down Lucien’s spine. He had forgotten, had a hazy awareness of the patriarchal laws that kept female chained to oppressive males. Would Helion truly call his mother to Day for that? They stared each other down for a moment before Lucien broke, his fear for his mother outweighing his need for dominance.

“Beron would have killed her.” Something snapped in Helion’s gaze, mollifying him for the moment. “I’m sure he would have.”

“He would have killed us both,” Lucien added, wondering if Helion cared about him at all. It was plain he felt something for his mother, but…no one needed a fully grown adult son. Helion fiddled with a gold ring on his finger, eyes faraway.

“Do you plan to stay?”

Lucien scoffed. “No.” He might have entertained the idea had he not seen a sopping wet Elain Archeron stalking through the palace draped in his brother's equally wet jacket. He didn’t want to be within a hundred miles of her. Speaking to her only confirmed what he’d knew in his heart–she was a two faced, conniving snake. 

Helion narrowed his eyes. “You’ll go back to Autumn despite being the presumed heir to my court?”

“I’ll stay if you banish Elain Archeron,” he said quickly, willing to make any concession if only to twist his own knife a little harder in her back. Helion didn’t even consider his request before saying, “No,” with unequivocal authority.

“Why delay the inevitable?” Lucien demanded.

“You’d leave her homeless?” Helion asked, leaning forward with curious eyes. “Your own mate?”

“She’s not my mate,” he hissed, despite having called her as such mere moments before. “She broke the bond.”

Helion scoffed. “Weakened it, you mean. Mating bonds cannot be broken.”

Lucien's stomach lurched, not at his words but at the memory of something Feyre had told him. “Is that what you told yourself when you were fucking her?”

Helion burst out laughing. “Chafing you still, is it? No, I didn’t fuck Elain Archeron. You’ve seen my type…she hardly measures up. Though, let me assure you that if I wanted, I would have had her the moment I met her. All she needed was someone to be kind to her, you know. I don’t suppose you’ve considered it.”

“You don’t know her like I do,” Lucien grumbled, rising to his feet. “Those are my terms. Take it or leave it.”

“Sit back down,” Helion ordered, his voice rich with magical authority. Lucien’s knees buckled as he desperately tried to resist the command. Pressure shoved against his shoulders, forcing him back to his chair. Lucien growled for all the good it did him. Back lit by the bright, open window behind him, Helion truly was Lord of all he saw, all he touched.

“Let me explain this in simple terms, son,” he began, his tone silky. “You’ll remain here, in Day, where I will instruct you on what it means to one day be High Lord—”

“Or what?” Lucien snarled furiously.

“So glad you asked. Or I’ll embarrass both your mother and your brother on a very public, very political stage and force your hand. Of course, it’s your choice how Prythian finds this information out.”

Lucien practically vibrated with rage. “Mother would never forgive you.” “I wouldn’t be so sure. I can be quite persuasive on my knees—”

“Shut your mouth,” Lucien hissed. “Don’t speak about her like that.”

“So territorial,” Helion crooned. “That’s the Autumn Court influence. Don’t worry. In a year you’ll be far more laid back and much more enjoyable company.”

“And Elain?” Lucien decided to press. “If I’m to be here as your son, I get no say at all as to who makes up my court?”

“If you truly hate the female, I trust you can avoid her,” Helion replied. “Let me say to you what I said to your brother: if I catch you harassing her, there will be consequences.”

Lucien glowered but didn’t argue. If Helion wouldn’t banish her, he’d simply create an environment so awful she had no choice but to flee. Let her run, tail tucked, right back to Night Court like the sniveling mouse she was. Elain wouldn’t know what hit her, was unprepared for three centuries of thinking he had only Autumn winding through his veins. Chaos was practically a mandate. He’d been raised in it, forged from it. She had no idea what game she played.

Satisfied he’d made his point, Helion rose to his feet. “Let me show you to your new living quarters.”

Lucien followed after him, adjusting his jacket as he stood. Elain accused him of looking square and though he was sure she was only trying to get a rise from him, he couldn’t help but glance at his side profile as he passed a mirror in Helion’s study. Fuck. The stiff shoulders did make him seem a little boxy.

He was pissed by the time Helion flung open the bedroom door on the second floor, revealing a truly beautiful suite of rooms. Lucien stepped inside, marveling at the ivory carved pillars and golden mosaic floors. Huge, open windows, curtained by sheer white drapes fluttered in the breeze. He had a sitting room, the furniture cream and gold and centered around an unlit fireplace he imagined was just for show. Through an archway was a bed big enough for four people to lay comfortably, blanketed in the same cream bedding. A balcony opened by two twin doors lay on one side and a large, dark bathroom on the other. 

“This belongs to the prince of Day Court,” Helion told him, his voice just a shade softer than before. Curious, Lucien turned to Helion lounging in the doorway.

“And if I’d been a princess?”

A creeping smile spread over his face. “You’d be just across the hall. There’s little difference unless you require a vanity and a walk-in closet.” “Perhaps I do,” Lucien snapped, turning back to the hall. He’d just been here taunting Elain. He walked past Helion, opening the door to the hall and retraced his steps in his mind. Had she been behind the door just across the hall? Or one down? 

“Did you put Elain Archeron in the suite across the hall from me?” he demanded, his fury returning with a vengeance. Helion only grinned.

“She’s the daughter I always wanted, what can I say?” 

Lucien opened his mouth to demand he be moved but Helion held up a finger. “Save it. She was here first and frankly, I think I like her better. She complains a lot less.”

Helion swanned from the room, pleased with his little games. Lucien almost ran after him, almost tried to force his hand before stopping, eyes turning back towards her closed door. Helion had just offered him nearly unlimited access to her. It would be laughably easy to get into her room, to make every moment, from the time she woke to when she fell asleep, a nightmare. He was in her personal space now.

Lucien smiled, closing the door.

He gave her a week.

ELAIN:

If Lucien thought he could harass Elain back to Night Court, he had another thing coming. She opened her door the first full day of his arrival to find him completely naked in the hall, apparently deciding it was the perfect place to stretch. She froze, eyes shutting before she could really examine him. He was pure, golden brown muscle everywhere except for between his legs, which of course was now burned behind her eyes. She turned her back to him.

“You’re pathetic,” she snapped. 

“I liked to work out early in the morning,” he replied in that snide way of his.

“Naked?” she demanded hotly. 

“How else will I truly tone my glutes? Have you seen them? Take a look—” “I’ll pass,” she shot back furiously. “I’ve seen all I require.”

“Is it how you imagined, in your dreams?” he asked, reminding her he, too, had seen her traitorous, filthy dreams about him. 

“I always pictured you as a well-endowed male,” she began carefully. “Strange how often reality doesn’t live up to the imagination. I’m sure there is a female somewhere who appreciates a tiny package.”

It was too easy to infuriate him. She heard his snarl of anger just as she snapped the door shut in his face. As long as she had the last word, she could do this. Still, her skin burned ice cold as she paced her bedroom for an alternate way out. Jumping from the balcony was inelegant and yet better than facing him down in the hall. It was worth his ire later that afternoon when he found her lounging beside a window, book in her lap. He didn’t dare ask how she’d gotten down and Elain only smiled, bowing her head with mock deference. 

Elain had no intention of letting him see her body at all. In fact, if Lucien thought he might shock her into moving, that one naked man was enough to send her scurrying away, he was dumber than she thought. Men had been revealing themselves to her since she was a little girl—human men loved showing the world their penises as if it were the most fascinating thing in the entire world. As if any lady had ever been tempted by  smelly, half hard genitalia. 

Elain slipped into the kitchen for the first time since she’d arrived, smiling sweetly at the surprised kitchen staff. “Do you mind if I bake something? There is a…male…that I’m fond of. My mama said the way to his heart was through his stomach.”

They murmured their agreement, taking in her earnest face and wide, sweet eyes. She spent her evening carefully making eight beautiful cupcakes, hiding witchberries in the blueberry jam filling and covering the entire thing in a pretty blue buttercream frosting. She didn’t even resent the effort it took, not when she watched a hapless serving girl offer them to Lucien, giggling the entire time.

He was so cocky, so self-assured he didn’t question her attention or why she was offering them. He just assumed an admirer wanted to gift him something, that all females loved him enough to bring him pastries. Elain returned to her little chair by the window, not daring to look his way. He strutted by mere moments later, all traces of the confection gone. 

Witchberries took quicker than she thought. Elain nearly laughed herself sick when she saw him arguing loudly in the courtyard with some imaginary courtier before vomiting into a bush. Lucien, as she heard it later, had to be dragged back to bed by three of Helion’s guards, thrashing and flailing the whole way.

When she woke the next morning he was sitting outside his bedroom door, long legs outstretched so she’d have to step over him as he sharpened a blade roughly. Their eyes met for a beat.

“How are you feeling?” she asked him sweetly.

“I think it’s lovely that you’re trying to feed me,” he replied, eyes flicking back to his gleaming knife. “You’re going to make the most wonderful mother to my brood.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied frostily, turning back to her bedroom with a toss of her hair.

“Next time you better shove it straight into my mouth, Elain. Don’t make the servants do your dirty work like a coward.”

“You look awful today,” she retorted, catching how she smirked. Insulting his appearance was always a last resort and they both knew it. Still, it was satisfying to slam the door in his face all the same, taking the same alternative exit from her bedroom…straight into a pile of animal dung. She screeched when her sandaled feet squished into the foul mixture, ruining the bottom of her dress as she fell. Elain had to gingerly walk towards the grass and peel off her shoes, holding the strappy sandals in one hand, the hem of her dress with the other. 

Lucien was still sitting in the hall, still sharpening his blade when she returned. He smiled when he saw her. “Back so soon?”

“You’re awful,” she complained, stepping over his legs to reach her door.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be such a coward,” he suggested. Elain crouched beside him, sliding the sole over his nice white tunic. 

“Maybe,” she agreed softly as his upper lip curled. “You’re pathetic, Lucien. Don’t you have any better way to spend your time?”

“No more pathetic than you,” he snarled, hatred flashing in his one good eye. “Running away because you’re too afraid to see Azriel happy and in love with a female he actually likes. Did he tell you what a consolation prize you were? His brothers got your sisters and he got…you.”

Elain’s whole body shook at his words, at how easily he saw through her. He knew exactly how to cut her, hardly needed a knife to do it. Her mouth tasted like chalk, her stomach tumbling roughly, threatening to empty whatever remained from dinner the night before. 

“It’s no wonder he dumped you the first chance he got,” Lucien continued, his metal eye whirring over her as though he could see just how badly he hurt her. “Who would ever choose you when they had the option to have someone else.”

Elain jerked backwards, unable to stand being so near him. Lucien didn’t look satisfied at all, his eyes tracking her. He looked bitter and angry, as if he was speaking more about himself than her.  She left him out there, listening for the sound of his own slamming door before she padded miserably to the bathtub to rinse her shoes and then herself. She waited until she was clean and dressed again to curl up on her bed and bury her face into a pillow so he couldn’t hear any trace of her otherwise silent sobs. Lucien had touched on her deepest insecurity, presumably without even meaning to. He’d said a lot of ugly things to her over the last three days, looking for just the right combination of phrases that might cut her to ribbons. Had he known this would work? Had he observed her carefully, piecing her together?

As night fell, Elain stayed exactly where she was, reflecting on how right he was. It wasn’t so much that Azriel left her—she thought she could endure that. It was the knowledge that no matter what she did or how hard she tried, she would always be second best, someone’s consolation prize. Overshadowed by her livelier, feistier sisters, Elain had tried so hard to set herself apart by being kind and sweet, by engaging with people, making them feel heard, feel seen.

And in return, had anyone ever really seen her?

No.

LUCIEN:

He knew the moment he saw her anguished face he’d taken things too far. He hadn’t really been talking about her—he’d been talking about himself. Second best, overlooked and barely tolerated. He didn’t think he’d ever had a real friend and besides Jesminda, who was killed for it, no one had ever really loved him. He was useful, of course. Helion was capitalizing on that, pumping Lucien for information about Night and Spring while carefully dancing around Autumn. It was only a matter of time before Helion offered him a job.

Lucien didn’t want a job. He was tired of working, tired of always being on the outs. Even Elain had made a home here. Helion preferred her to him, scooping her up the morning after their ugly fight to show her the pegasi. She’s been all bright smiles in pale yellow, not daring to look at him at all.

It gave him nothing to do but explore. He went to the beaches first, wasting two whole days getting sand in his boots before he relented, switching to sandals and a pair of well tailored, breezy white pants and an equally flowing shirt. A lot of males adopted the toga or pants with no shirt at all. Lucien wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He had nothing against his body or anyone seeing it…the aesthetic just irked him. It felt a little too Day. 

He still hoped to return to Autumn. 

Eventually, Lucien meandered into the library, picking a book on history at random, and plopping into a chair. It didn’t take long for blonde, tan Arina to appear. He’d seen her around, walking arm and arm with Elain like one of Eris’s dogs. She looked like she wanted to fight.

“What good is being heir if I can’t get one fucking moment of quiet?” he asked to no one in particular.

“Maybe you could have peace if you left Elain alone,” Arina hissed. “What did you say to her?”

“I’ve said so many things,” he replied breezily. “Who could be sure?”

“There’s no honor in being an asshole to your mate,” she hissed quietly, glancing through the stacks for someone who might be listening. It wasn’t exactly common knowledge, him and Elain. Not here, anyway. 

“She’s not my mate,” he replied dully, a repeated refrain no one seemed to hear. 

Arina narrowed those pine green eyes, crossing her arms over her nearly exposed chest. “She is your mate, even if you don’t like it.”

“You’re the expert,” he dismissed. 

“I think–”

“You know, Arina, I have a mother. I don’t need another.” “Then she raised you poorly,” Arina snapped. “Mates protect each other.”

“She broke it!” he yelled, forgetting he was in a quiet space. “How am I the villain in all this? I would have done anything for her back then and she broke it for another male. Take your self-righteous attitude and get the fuck away from me.”

Light was seeping from his skin, threatening to spill out around him. That magic he’d kept concealed, shoved deep in his gut, was leaking from every pore. Lucien felt wild, uncontained and terrified. Arina caught him as his knees hit the ground, grabbing his face and forcing him to look at her.

“Stay with me,” she whispered, her earlier ire forgotten. “If you explode, you might hurt someone.”

“You should go,” he groaned, catching how she winced as the light burned against her skin.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” she promised, breathless despite the pain. Her fingers stroked against his cheek, holding him in place. He could sense her own magic, felt it cool his overheated skin.

A moment later, Arina vanished, replaced by the concerned face of Helion. “Take a breath,” he warned, pulling Lucien up by his arm. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

“I can’t,” Lucien gasped, unsure where he was being led. There was the sense of crushing, airless pressure and darkness mere moments before Lucien became unmoored. He exploded in a ball of light and heat and fire, groaning as he went to his knees. His hands curled against grass, dragging him all the way down. He pressed his cheek to the ground, finally able to breathe. Lucien’s arm dangled off a cliffside, far from the Day Court palace or the city of Rhodes. 

“Three pent up centuries,” Helion murmured, gingerly sitting on the grass beside him. “It’s a wonder you haven’t exploded sooner.”

“I’ve got an iron will,” Lucien groaned, rolling to his back. He rested a hand against his chest, panting for air while feeling his raging, out of control heart.

Helion chuckled softly. “My father, too. Stubborn to the end. Helped with the overthrow, you know. I was lucky to escape Amarantha…he shielded me from their plans. I think he suspected. Still, he had to try. Couldn’t take anything laying down.”

“I’m not sure it’s a good quality,” Lucien admitted, staring up at the cloudless sky. 

Helion shrugged. “Maybe not. You’ll need it when you’re High Lord one day.”

“You have to know I don’t want that,” Lucien murmured, his chest tightening painfully. “I abdicated in Autumn. I don’t want it here.”

“Perhaps I’ll outlive you,” Helion replied dryly. “Or you might have a child who usurps you. No one knows quite how it works, after all.”

“Do you think it did a good job picking you?” he questioned. Helion sighed.

“No. I think I was one of the few good options left, though. I haven’t made too big of a mess…though the moment Prythian learns I have an Autumn Court heir, there will be some very specific hell to pay.”

Lucien understood, at least a little. “The other courts don’t like sharing magic.”

“They’ll imagine you as some mythical High King come to rule them all. We keep to ourselves purposefully.” “I have no interest in being High King,” Lucien said, though he was certain he didn’t need to. Helion stared out at the distance, cross legged and pensive as he stared towards an unknowable future. 

“We’ll leave that future to the Lord and Lady of Night Court, hm?” Helion joked, earning a near smile from Lucien. 

“You think they would?”

“If the opportunity presented itself? I think Rhysand would loudly protest as he walked the entire way to the throne.”

It felt bad to laugh at Feyre’s expense like that and still Lucien did, unsure what was funny at all. “One worry at a time,” he said, gingerly rising. He sat, careful not to tumble into the water below. He scooted backwards until he couldn’t see the drop below. 

“No one needs an adult son,” Lucien finally told Helion, hating how vulnerable he sounded. He needed to say it, if only once. Just so Helion knew he wasn’t expecting greatness from their relationship.

Helion took a deep breath, eyebrows raised. “I’m fucking it all up, I’m sure,” he began. “I wouldn’t have known what to do with a baby. This is easier, I suppose. Your mother did all the hard work and I merely get to reap the rewards.”

It was strangely nice, the words warming him. No one had ever implied he was good enough to be their son, that they might be proud, even. He chewed on his bottom lip until blood flooded his mouth. Neither of them spoke after that, not until Helion finally stood, offering him a hand.

“C’mon. Let’s go home.”

And for the first time, Lucien thought the word might mean something to him.

That home was a place and he belonged.

ELAIN:

Elain was curled in the library when Eris Vanserra stalked in, eyes scanning the room like a predator. His eyes settled on her, lips flattening at the sight. They hadn’t spoken since she’d made him look a fool in front of Arina. He hesitated for a moment before walking towards her. 

“Name your price,” he said, his words stilted. Elain set her book down as if she hadn’t been staring.

“Excuse me?” she replied, carefully to keep the haughtiness from her voice. She knew what he was asking.

“The favor. Name your price.” Elain looked down at her fingers curling in her lap. She’d intended for it to be an interest free favor, one she could call in at the time of her choosing. Eris was far too Fae to allow that kind of bargain.

“I have nightmares of the Cauldron,” she told him impulsively, unsure why she’d ever entrusted that kind of information to the same man who’d tried to drown her. Eris didn’t react, his face one of supreme boredom. “Nightmares of…of being dragged into the depths…”

Eris swallowed, his face paling for a moment. “What do you want me to do about that?”

“There is nowhere deep enough for me to sink, not by myself,” she explained. Eris shook his head.

“That’s a terrible idea. I’m far too tempted to let you drown.”

His words filled her with a horrible, cold dread. It had been a mistake to ask him, to let him know what plagued her at night. She’d given him all the ammunition required to torment her for years, centuries even. 

“Get up,” Eris said, exasperated. “Go change. And no cover-up this time.” “Why not?” she asked, immediately defensive.

“Because you’re fae,” he replied as if it ought to be obvious. “And no fae woman would be so scared of a male seeing her body.”

“It’s supposed…it’s sacred—” “Yeah, to human males who can’t be sure who might be breeding with the same females. They sure control your lot well, don’t they? You’re not human and your body is a weapon. It belongs to you, not to the world around you. If you want my help, you’ll do it my way or not at all.”

“All this for Arina?” she questioned. Arina had been rather tight-lipped when it came to Eris Vanserra, badmouthing him when the moment required before slipping into indifferent silence.

“I’m not about to let my mate break the bond,” Eris told her, his tone silky. It was his eyes, wild and worried, that betrayed him. Not that she intended to tell him that. Elain set her book to the side, standing quickly. 

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?” she asked, fingers curling and uncurling at her side.

“We’ll see how I feel when we get out there. Now go get dressed. I don’t want to spend my entire day with you.”

Elain scurried off, grateful to find the hall between her room and Lucien’s emptied of his presence. He’d been quieter since their last blow up, avoiding her either from pity or regret. Both were equally humiliating. Elain was too hopeful he might return to the blissful silence he’d offered over the last two years, vanishing into whatever slimy pit he’d crawled from.

She did as Eris said, hands shaking as she slid the two piece, pink swimsuit over her head. It was as modest as she’d get in Day Court, a place where both males and females routinely sunbathed in the nude. The fabric covered both her butt and her breasts, even if it covered nothing else. 

Eris waited in the hall, the slide of his eyes somehow reassuring rather than uncomfortable. She supposed knowing he was only helping because he wanted another woman made her feel better.

“You look almost faerie,” he praised dryly. 

“What’s missing?” she questioned, trotting after him. 

“No one in this court but you wears swim clothes,” Eris reminded her. “Arina does,” she shot back, pleased to see a flush creeping up his skin.

“Only to make her little human pet happy.” “I’m not her pet. I’m her friend. If you want to be with her, you’re going to have to learn to like me.”

“I’d rather love a fungus beneath my nails,” he replied, his every word dripping with boredom. “You were never more interesting than when you were trying to drown me.”

“I wasn’t trying to drown you,” she protested, the heat of the day slamming into her chest. Eris staggered back, dressed impeccably in his hunter green coat and his tight black pants. If Elain was hot in practically nothing, she was sure Eris must be, too. 

“Sure you weren’t. All that repressed rage to do, what, exactly? Play an underwater game of charades?”

“I was just angry,” she admitted, shame washing over her. 

“For the first time, I assume.”

“No…” But Eris wasn’t entirely wrong. She had been mad, angry even. Mad at Feyre and Rhysand for not keeping her safe when they’d promised. Mad at Graysen for going back on his promises, at Nesta for turning her back when she was the only person who could understand how Elain felt and again for accepting the bond with Cassian. She was mad at Azriel for convincing her to marry him, for how relentlessly he’d pursued her only to set her aside the first chance he got. She was angry with Lucien and his claim she’d never be free of but worst of all, she was angry with herself and the way she let life pull her around like a leaf on the breeze. 

She turned this over in her mind as Eris walked her away from the palace, turning his attention towards a series of cliffsides overlooking the glittering blue ocean on the other side of Rhodes. Her sandals caught on every loose rock as they traveled upwards, far enough that no one would ever hear her scream if he chose to leave her at the bottom. 

“Can I ask you something?” Eris asked breathlessly when they reached the top. Elain nodded, resting her hands on her knees.

“Have you ever been allowed to be messy?”

She looked up, hair hanging around her face like a curtain. “Allowed?”

“Yes, Elain Allowed. I’ve been in your court once or twice. They dress you up like a pretty doll, parade you around…but are you allowed to be angry? Or sad? Mother says Helion was the only one who came to see you after your second broken engagement. Why is that?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, standing carefully, arms wrapped around her chest. Eris’s eyes narrowed.

“I see right through you, you know. I wore that same mask just as tightly once. I know what I’m looking at.”

“You don’t know anything,” she snapped as he stepped closer.

“You’re so afraid to take it off, afraid that we’ll all realize what a trembling little fawn you really are. Childish and angry, blaming everyone but yourself for your failures.”

She shook her head. “You’re wrong,” she whispered, hands shaking at the truth of his words. Eris smiled, eyes warming with cruelty. As if it was just his favorite game to play. Eris gripped his chin. “I see that blame but Elain. It’s your fault you went in that Cauldron.”

“No,” she replied, a tear slipping down her cheek.

“Why didn’t you try harder? Why didn’t you fight back? If you’d been stronger, if you’d been braver you’d still be human.”

“Stop it,” she all but begged, yielding another step. Eris came with her, his eyes practically flame. 

“You’re helpless. Pathetic. Weak and small. It’s why no one will ever love you, why you still cry yourself to sleep about the Cauldron—” “You’re wrong!” she screamed, her anger boiling over. She screamed again, the sound guttural and furious, the urge primal. It was older than the sea, ancient and cruel. Elain, Elain, Elain, the Cauldron had crooned. Let me show you how I love you. Take my gifts. Come to me, Elain, Elain Elain.

“I survived it,” she snarled at him, reaching for his throat. Eris caught her wrist, spinning her around to see just how close to the edge she’d crept. 

“That’s right,” he told her, one arm holding her around the waist. He took another step, dangling her off the edge. “A weaker female would have died, would have given up but you came out. Now go back and remind the world what exactly it Made.”

Elain screamed as Eris shoved, dropping her off the edge of the world. She seemed to fall forever, legs flailing, her scream echoing through the air. It evoked the same sense of being dragged to the Cauldron, of those rough men and their wandering, cruel hands. 

She hit the water like an explosion, shooting downwards with only a gulp of air. She plunged down, down down, eyes screwed shut like before. There was no air, only pressure as she floated. In her dreams, those same, loving hands pulled her further into a fathomless depth, filling her lungs with lead, boiling her blood until it evaporated to steam. She wasn’t made gently, held gently like a baby at its mothers breast. Elain had been forged in flame and smoke, shaped by an unyielding, brutal hammer.

She’d asked for nothing in return. Had given herself up, had let that crooning voice lull her nearly to sleep. She hadn’t begged, hadn’t wept or cried. She’d merely been, allowing that faceless God to inspect her. Worthy, it had chanted. Elain, Elain, Elain.

She kicked against nothing, feeling only warm water around her ankles. Arms outstretched, Elain forced her eyes open in the stinging water, swimming upwards towards the light. She wasn’t alone. Eris Vansrra had come, shedding his jacket and his shirt somewhere on the cliff overhead. He grabbed her hand when it breached the surface, pulling her the rest of the way up.

Elain gasped, twining her arms around his neck. Eris was watching, eyes unreadable as she wiped her face and gulped down air.

“Look at you now,” he murmured, pushing hair off her forehead. “Unbent. Unbroken.”

“All this for one woman?” she asked him, wildly grateful it was him in that pool of sloshing water. The waves pushed against them, dragging them towards a rocky shoreline in the distance. Eris kicked his feet, careful to keep one arm around her as they went.

“Two females,” he corrected, spitting water from his mouth. 

“Me?” she murmured. “The female that fucks animals?”

He burst with laughter, swallowing sea water for his trouble. Smiling, Eris nodded. “The female who fucks animals and grabs High Lords by the hair. I see you Elain Archeron.”

“What do you see?” she asked him, well aware Eris’s words were carefully crafted, aimed not to wound but to kill.

“I see you, sister. Messy, ugly, mean you.”

Her feet hit the sandy bottom just as a wave shoved her forward. Eris gripped her elbow, helping her out of the water. “No one would like me if they knew what I was really like,” she admitted, daring to say the thing she’d only ever thought. “It’s better if they think nothing about me at all.”

Eris shook his long, wet hair from his face, his disagreement plain.

“You mean, some people won’t like you if they knew who you are. That’s just life. Not everyone can like you.” “And if I want them to?” “Why? Most people are stupid and awful. Why would you ever care if they liked you?”

She didn’t have anything to say to that. Eris walked to her, High Lord of Autumn and so intensely powerful the world must have shuddered the moment he came into it. He held her chin in his grip, thumb brushing her cheek.

“All that matters is that you like yourself, Elain. No one else is important.”

LUCIEN:

Lucien had given Elain a week-long reprieve to work on his feelings and through some of his new, unfamiliar magic. He had no idea what she’d gotten up to while he was away, not interested in keeping tabs. She seemed to spend a lot of time at the beach though where, exactly, she went, he had no clue. He’d tried tracking her one day, only to lose her once she left the palace. She returned sopping wet, her bare stomach bruised, her cheeks flushed. 

She smelled faintly of saltwater and something else, a males scent he didn’t immediately recognize. It burned at him though he knew it shouldn’t. Having her across the hall, under his same roof, strutting about in her bathing suits and now reeking of a strange male was setting his teeth on edge. 

He wanted to punish her for the desire he felt. Despite everything, he still wanted her and it was slowly driving him to madness. He understood it now, how some males went insane when the bond was broken. It was the wanting, the drive to claim, that made them that way. She was under his skin, an itch he needed to scratch.

Avoiding her would have been smart. The cord between them tugged at him, urging him to repair the tears, to make it new again. Every time Lucien considered what it might be like, to talk to her like she wasn’t someone he loathed, his gut twisted. He saw Azriel’s hands on her body, his mouth against her skin, and he was angry all over again. 

Elain slipped out one evening when she thought no one was watching, her swimsuit orange this time, her hair braided off her face. Lucien watched her go as he debated following after her. He stayed, pushing into his room angrily and undressing so roughly he accidentally tore his shirt. He flung it all to the floor. He climbed into bed, one arm flung over his head. Who was he, Lucien wondered. Why did she prefer every male but him? 

He was never going to have peace while she was here. He intended to go to Helion in the morning, now that he was in the High Lord’s good graces, and beg him to please send Elain away. She could go anywhere else. It didn’t have to be Night. Give her to Tarquin…or Tamlin. She’d like the flowers, he thought furiously. Tamlin would like her, too. Elain didn’t ask for much. 

Somewhat settled by that thought, Lucien slipped into sleep. He should have known better to go to sleep so frustrated without finding release, first. His mind immediately conjured images of Elain riding him, of her thighs clenched around his hips, her cunt wrapped around his cock. He gasped awake achingly, practically bruisingly hard. He panted for a moment, reaching for the base of his shaft to stroke.

The soft sound of sandals clacking against the marble drew his attention to the hall. Elain was back. Night had fallen solidly around him, pouring warm moonlight over his bare chest. He reached for his discarded pants, throwing them over his hips and adjusting himself so she wouldn’t immediately realize he had an erection.

He flung open his bedroom door just in time to catch her. Elain was practically wild, her hair sticking at odd angles, her eyes glassy and bright. The top of her wet suit was tugged slightly towards one side, revealing the rounded edge of her small, pert breasts. Hardened nipples peeked just behind the fabric, doing little to slake the lust he was overcome with.

“Where have you been?” he demanded, stalking towards her until her back hit the wall. A small squeak slipped from her throat. Mousy, just as he’d thought. He caged her between his arms, palms pressed flat against the cool limestone.

“Swimming,” she whispered, too surprised to lie. Lucien could see fresh bruises on her stomach, on her thigh. He trailed a finger over the flat plane, poking a little too roughly. She winced before shoving at his chest.

“Get off me,” she demanded furiously.

“I don’t think you’re swimming at all,” he murmured, sliding his hand over her waist. Her breath caught in her throat though she pushed again, for all the good it did. 

“Because you’re stupid, and wouldn’t know what water looked like if it hit you in the face,” she retorted hotly. “Which it might, if you don’t let me go.” He dipped his head, the closest he’d ever been to her, to inhale the salty scent. “You smell like come.”

“What?” she gasped, swallowing hard. He’d caught her off guard, could press his advantage. It was unlikely to get him anywhere but Lucien couldn’t think straight, now when he was practically pressed against her wet, naked body. His cock twitched in his pants, begging for relief. 

She's yours. Take her, instinct demanded. She didn’t have to like him. He didn’t need to like her either. He only needed to know what her pretty little cunt felt like. 

“You smell like come,” he repeated, his voice a little too ragged for his liking. “Like another male has marked you.”

Her eyes glittered furiously. “You’re smelling your brother.”

Blood roared in Lucien’s ears. His head whipped to the side, staring down the vast, empty hall at nothing. Eris was in Autumn. Eris wouldn’t dare. He struggled to contain his feral rage, to keep himself from winnowing to Autumn and challenging Eris to a blood duel. Elain watched, those tawny eyes bright and cruel.

“He’s teaching me things you could only dream of,” she added, twisting the knife so deep it was buried to the hilt. He couldn’t think, his blood overheating. He thought he might explode with more of that white hot light, that he might kill them both without evening meaning to.

His hand came flying off the wall, grabbing her by the throat. Elain’s lip curled upwards, her disgust plain. 

He swore he meant to let her go. He told himself he meant to walk away, to go back to his bedroom where he was free from her. He tightened his grip for a moment, his mouth crashing over her own. It wasn’t nice or sweet or any of the things he’d once imagined. It was furious and brutal, his tongue practically wrenching open her mouth, delving in to taste her. Elain reached for his wrist, her fingernails digging against the skin until the scent of blood swam through the air, mingled with her bright, heady arousal. It took him just as long to recognize he was kissing her to notice that she was kissing him back. Her other hand gripped his hair, twisting it around her wrist and pulling so hard his scalp stung. It only fueled him, made him hungrier, more desperate. He ground against her, letting her feel just how hard he was. Her little gasp was just as desperate as he felt.

She released her hold on his wrist, throat still pinned, still gripped tight enough he knew she must have been seeing spots. Clever little fingers dipped beneath the band of his pants, gripping his shaft. Her fingers curled around the burning flesh, unable to meet fully. He snarled his approval, shoving her to her knees.

“Open your mouth,” he demanded roughly.

“I’d rather die,” she replied breathlessly, not moving though he knew she could. His hold on her head was tenuous, even when he gripped her salty, wet hair. It was Elain who freed him, who stroked the length of his twitching, thick cock. He pressed it against the thin line of her lips.

“Open,” he said, his words more plea than anything. “Open your bratty fucking mouth.” It was a blessing or curse when those lips parted. Lucien only knew he was in hell the moment her tongue slid along the underside of him. He pushed, his head finding the velvety wetness of her cheek and he was certain he was ruined. He braced one hand against the wall, his other holding her head by the hair, terrified she might pull away with a smirk, her teasing eyes shaming him for ever daring to want her. 

She couldn’t take much. He got a third of the way in before she began gagging, her eyes watering. It was punishment, he told himself, pushing just a little further. Her hands flew to his bare thighs, slapping him roughly. He withdrew fully, meeting her furious gaze. 

“This is not how I die, Lucien,” she snapped. He swallowed his shudder, forcing himself to get himself together.

“You’ll do whatever I tell you to,” he replied, the words the boldest lie he’d ever told. “Breathe through your nose.”

He didn’t give her a chance to protest, pushing himself back into the warmth of her mouth. He didn’t like the gagging, didn’t like the thought of her accidentally puking all over him. When he went to push more of himself into her mouth, he went slower, letting her adjust until he’d worked half himself into her throat. It was the best he was ever going to do. 

“Use your hand,” he groaned, unable to pretend he had any control anymore. He was holding her hair to keep himself upright, not that she needed to know that. Elain did as she was told, hand gripping his cock tightly, sliding in tandem with her mouth, tentatively at first before she found a rhythm that worked for her. Lucien rolled his head on his shoulders, his breathing ragged. 

“I like your mouth like this,” he moaned, unable to take his eyes off her. They blazed with that same hatred he always saw. Perhaps this was some new way to torment him, to lodge herself in his very psyche until he’d never be free of her. “You look so pretty sucking my cock like a whore.”

She made a soft noise of protest, apparently drawing the line at being degraded that way. Lucien didn’t care. She’d told him his brother was fucking her. He intended to mark her, to drench her in his scent so every other male knew exactly what they were getting into. He thrust, a wildness overtaking him. It was the bond in his chest, glimmering softly, the edges wrapping tight again. Elain used one hand to brace herself against his thighs, fingers digging so hard he knew she wouldn’t be the only one sporting bruises. Pleasure coiled through him, curling his toes and tightening his muscles. He’d never been so hard, so aroused, in his entire life.

The bond made it like this. Lucien knew it was a mistake the second release slammed through him, forcing him to pull himself out of her throat just in time to splash come over her neck and half bare breasts. Elain hissed a furious noise, eyes screwed shut to avoid being hit in the face. She slapped at him, falling backwards with surprise. Her knees were bruised, bright red from kneeling against the unyielding marble floor.

Lucien blinked, some of his better sense coming back not that he wasn’t blinded by lust. Elain, too, seemed to realize what they’d just done. She scrambled to her feet, hand raised as if she might slap him.

“I have nightmares of the Cauldron,” she finally told him, every word dripping with disdain. He half heard her, eyes dipping to the swollen pink lips spitting the words. “Your brother is helping me get over it. Nothing more.”

“I didn’t make you get on your knees,” he reminded her, swallowing hard. He was still pulsating from the orgasm, his heart pounding in the base of his cock. “You did that all on your own.” Elain nodded, reaching for the back of her suit. Very carefully, she untied it, letting her small, bouncy breasts pop from the top. Lucien groaned again, his knees buckling. She slipped from beneath his arm, taking advantage of how he stared.

“Eris says my body is a weapon,” she murmured, one hand holding the knob of the door behind her. “And maybe you’re right. I suppose I did get on my knees.”

She reached her other hand for a bare, still wet breast, pinching the nipple softly. Lucien jerked forward, his arousal sparking bright all over again. “Good luck with another woman. I’m in your head, now. For the rest of your life, you’ll be chasing the high of this night.”

He lunged just as she slipped behind the door, slamming it roughly in his face. He reached for the handle a mere second after the lock clicked in place. 

“Embarrassing, Lucien,” she crooned from the other side of the door. “Even for you.”

He slammed his palm against the wood, the image of her pretty, pale breasts burning in his mind. “This isn’t over, Elain.”

“It is if I say it is,” she replied sweetly. “You’ll touch me only if I want you to. And tonight…I think I want to touch myself. Sleep well…mate.”

His snarl echoed off the walls, likely waking half the palace. He stalked back to his bedroom, slamming the door loudly. The thought of her a mere door away, hand between her legs, made him furious. He’d let her distract him, had been too caught up in her sucking him to realize he wasn’t fucking her. She’d given him practically nothing other than a taste of what it was like to be in her body. 

Elain Archeron was playing a far more sophisticated game than he’d first imagined.

Lucien could best her. 

ELAIN: 

A week of festivals led up to Solstice and Elain was excited to participate in a little revelry. She hadn’t been to an actual party since she was a human. She’d been too sheltered, too tucked away. Elain wondered more than once if she hadn’t wanted to disappear, to get lost in the shadows. She couldn’t in Helion’s court even if she wanted to. The High Lord himself came to seek her out the start of the first festival, if only to criticize what she wore.

“That looks as if it belongs a thousand years in the past,” he complained of the modest, pink dress. He went to her wardrobe, pulling several dressed from hangars and laying them carefully on the bed. “You’ll stick out like a sore thumb in all those ruffles.” Elain nodded, grateful when Helion departed, casting his stressed, anxious gaze onto someone else. She pulled on a bright red dress, the top cutting over her shoulder before falling in a rather pretty cape. Four or so inches of her stomach peeked between the top and the skirt, far better than any of the swimsuits she wore. She was so unused to letting people see any part of her that even this stretch of skin felt scandalous. She knew what her mother would have said. Letting anyone see her body, a thing which didn’t belong to her but some unknown husband, was not just wrong but offensive to the order of things.

Graysen and Azriel had seen it. Did it matter who else did? 

Arina was waiting in vivid orange, offsetting the bronze of her skin and the blonde of her hair. She glowed, as always, grinning widely when Elain jogged down the steps. Arina looped her arm through Elains.

“It’s just you and me today,” she said breezily, leading Elain from the front of the palace, down the marble steps, and into the bustling city. Little brightly colored flags with golden suns hung from string across the streets, stretching from building to building. Men on ladders added little fae lights to illuminate the sunstone street when the sun fell while women added tables to blocked off streets, draping gold cloth atop the worn wood. 

People were already drinking despite how early in the day it was, holding cups of wine and other liquor in their hands, drinking merrily in the already hot sun. People in swim clothes paraded towards the beach where loud music floated into the city square, mingling with the sound of unsupervised children screaming with delight. 

Arina vanished long enough to grab long cups of a brightly colored drink, thrusting the sweating objecting into Elain’s hand. “If we start drinking now, we won’t notice the heat by noon.”

It was a terrible plan and yet Elain pulled the straw between her lips, sucking the frozen beverage into her mouth. It was bright and fruity and so sweet her brain immediately lit up with excitement. 

Elain let Arina pull her around some of the stalls, selecting several dresses to be sent up to the Sun Palace before finding a rare, empty table beneath an umbrella. Elain snatched with glee, a little tipsy as she tumbled to her chair. She looked across at her friend, mopping up oil and balsamic vinegar with a slice of bread, and took a breath.

“So…Eris said you two were mates?”

Eris, for all his shitty methods, was doing a decent job of keeping her nightmares at bay. When she found herself pulled into the blackness, Elain had begun repeating his refrain. Unbent. Unbroken.

Arina, cheeks filled with food, glowered. “Told you, did he?”

“I think he’s told everyone,” Elain replied, not wanting her friend to think she was siding with him. He hadn’t asked her for help…he’d merely offered it to keep her from making Arina loathe him any more. Elain was curious if Arina might break the bond, too. 

“I’ll bet he has,” she mumbled, gesturing for another set of drinks to be brought. Elain wasn’t sure that was a good idea, still sucking down the mostly melted icewater but accepted it all the same. “He’s been popping up a lot more…even when he’s not around.”

“The dreams,” Elain said almost breathlessly. The alcohol coursing through her, coupled with the lack of food, made her more willing to talk about the effects of the mating bond. Arina’s pale eyebrows shot upwards.

“Yes. They’re…” Arina trailed off, leaning back in the folding, wooden chairs they sat in.

“Terrible,” Elain agreed but Arina shook her head, brushing strands of blonde hair off her shoulders.

“Hot,” she finally managed, eyes glazed over as she thought. “I can’t tell if its my mind hoping he fucks like that or a true representartion of what it would be like.”

“What do you mean? He’s sending them to you,” Elain protested. Feyre had told her she might see his thoughts, feel his feelings which had never helped the blooming resentment she felt towards Lucien. She hated when he sent her his thoughts of his face buried between her legs. 

Arina chuckled. “No he doesn’t. Eris lacks the kind of magic that would let him worm inside my mind. I merely feel his desire…my brain fills in the gaps.” Elain frowned, well aware Arina was scrutinizing her. “You thought Lucien was making you see them?”

She felt sheepish all at once. “Yes,” she admitted. 

“You know…speaking of mates,” Arina began, ignoring how Elain scowled. “Lucien isn’t that bad.”

“You don’t know him like I do,” Elain grumbled, ignoring how her body clenched just at the sound of his name. It had been days since she’d gotten on her knees to pleasure him. Elain couldn’t explain what had come over her but when he’d kissed her, it was as if she acted on instinct alone. It was only when he yanked himself from her mouth to come across her chest that rationality prevailed. 

Regret warred with desire. She wanted to see him again, wanted to touch the hard slab of muscle that made up his chest and stomach. She’d never seen anyone built like him. Lucien was built for power. Lucien was power.

She hated how she felt. He was studiously ignoring her again, eyes sliding towards her smugly on occasion. He’d gotten what he wanted, his expression seemed to say but Elain knew the truth. She’d felt him behind her bedroom door, heard his ragged breath, his pounding hand. He wanted more.

No matter how badly she might crave him, she fully intended to hold out. Let him spend a century or so reflecting on what an asshole he was. If he wanted to touch an inch of her body, he’d have to crawl on his knees and beg.

Arina, unaware of Elain’s thoughts, only shrugged. “Helion’s bringing him to more meetings and offering him more instruction. He’s really smart…very cunning.” “I’ll bet he is.” Elain stared Arina down, catching her game. She’d turned the tables, managed to get Elain to talk about Lucien instead of Eris. “Just like his brother. Have you two talked at all?”

Arina’s pretty face darkened. “Once…if screaming in his face counts.”

“I’ll bet he liked that,” Elain joked, taking another drink. Arina giggled, her cheeks flushed.

“I know he did. I could smell his arousal.”

That piqued Elain’s interest. “How?”

“It’s muskier…different for all males to be sure, but it has a very distinct, almost salty edge to it.”

Lucien had accused her of smelling like come several nights ago. Elain wondered if he hadn’t been smelling himself and, unaware he was turned on by her at all, mistook it for another man. It didn’t matter, she decided. Elain was tired of thinking about Lucien, of trying to piece together his depraved motivations. She’d come to have fun and Lucien was antithetical to that.

“No men,” Elain declared, ignoring how Arina was eyeing a group of them nearby. Those same men, so clearly Day Court by their gleaming, bare chests, were watching them, too.

“Who have you been with besides your last fiance?” Arina asked mischievously.

“No one. And I don’t want to be, either,” Elain added.

“Could be fun,” Arina replied, eyes sliding back to Elain. Catching the resolute no on Elain’s face, Arina sighed. “Alright. No males. In exchange, though…shots.”

Who was Elain to argue?

Night had fallen by the time Elain made her way back to the palace. She wasn’t drunk–she’d stopped drinking around noon when her face went numb and her stomach turned upside down. Arina hadn’t noticed Elain replacing all her drinks with water or how she’d been shoveling food into her mouth in a desperate bid to soak up the alcohol. Tipsy was a better word for what she was.

The air seemed to shimmer sweetly around her face, dancing hues of violet and pink against the blue black of the night sky. The stars were blotted out by all the light on the street, making it easy to find her way home.

“Need help?” A man she’d never met seemed to appear beside her, reaching for her arm when she pitched forward.

“No,” she assured him. “My sandal caught on a rock.”

She didn’t trust a stranger in the dark of the night, not when everyone seemed to be taking the opportunity to pair off just as soon as the first light of dusk settled over the city.

“I insist—”

“No thank you,” Elain replied, firmer this time. She pulled her arm from his grasp, walking after him. He didn’t follow, taking the hint without problem. Elain was grateful, more grateful still when she found her way through the winding garden of Day Court. She was careful around the edge of the pool, the memory of Eris’s bleeding nose popping into her memory unbidden as she passed. How many people were allowed to attack a High Lord without consequence?

Deciding against her bedroom, almost certain Lucien would be prowling the hall, Elain made her way through the grove of olive trees for a hammock, tied between two leafy poplar trees. She clambered into the fabric, one leg draped over the side to swing herself as she looked out over the dark ocean. Moonlight poured brilliantly over the water, making it glimmer with lilac waves. 

The sound of water meeting earth might have lulled her to sleep. Her eyes were heavy, her skin warm from sitting beneath the sun all day. Elain hoped wherever Arina was, whatever she did, she was having fun. 

Her arms resting against her stomach, leg stilling, Elain was nearly asleep when the wind brought the scent of sun warmed apples mingled with salty ocean spray. The hem of her dress slid up over her knees, pushed not by the air but by calloused fingertips. The hammock swayed at the new, heavy presence of another person touching her.

“You have a lot of nerve,” she whispered, not bothering to look at who pushed her dress further up her thighs, hands resting against her skin.

“I’ll touch you whenever I feel like,” Lucien’s voice replied, edged roughly. 

“You’re drunk,” she accused, just assuming. She hadn’t seen him all day, had barely thought of him at all. “Isn’t there any other female you could harass?”

“Almost certainly,” he agreed. “I have my pick in every court.”

“Then pick someone else,” she whispered, shivering when he lowered his head, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. His nose traveled over her, to the part of her body covered in a thin strip of cotton. He exhaled hot air, nuzzing the fabric with his face.

“Why? You’re already here,” he exhaled, the heat making her squirm. Arousal bloomed in her belly, snaking hotly towards her core. Elain opened her eyes to see him kneeling at the side of the hammock, hovering over her lower body as if he intended to devour her. She’d never dared to look at anyone during intimate moments, far too embarrassed. Even in the dark, Lucien was easy to see, illuminated by his own magic and the nearby faelights swaying in the breeze. 

He wrapped his hands around her waist, dragging her down the hammock and into his arms.

“I’ll scream.” It was an empty threat. Who would intervene, besides? Lucien had the look of a man that might kill anyone who got in his way.

“I know you will,” he replied, pushing her legs apart roughly. Lucien shoved her dress up over her hips, settling in the grass between her parted thighs. 

“Take off your top,” he demanded. Elain offered him her middle finger in response. Lucien growled, hovering over her and yanked, leaving the red fabric tangled around her face. Cool air blew over her overheated flesh mere seconds before his hands grasped, gently feeling the soft skin, his thumbs rubbing circles over her hardening nipples. Elain squeaked, floundering to get her shirt off as Lucien pressed his advantage, lips sucking the tips of her breasts into his mouth, tongue lavishing the delicate, sensitive skin. She wanted to watch him, needed to see. Elain managed to get it off over her arms, tossing it towards the swaying hammock overhead.

Lucien was wilder than she’d ever seen him, his torso bare like before and slick with sweat. Even at night, Rhodes was uncomfortably sticky. He’d shed his courtiers mask, hair falling chaotically over his shoulders, half obscuring his face. The muscles of his back were bunched and Elain, unable to resist, ran her finger over his spine just to feel how they flexed.

He traded one breast for the other, taking his time, his free hand ensuring he worked them both in tandem. Her arousal was undeniable, her back arching her into his mouth. Instinct, she assured herself. It was the bond between them and nothing more. She could feel that cord pulsating in her chest, urging her on. 

Just for tonight, she swore. Just like the night before. Lucien released her nipple with a pop of his lips, reaching for her face. He held her in his grip, fingers pressed lightly against her jaw. He could have hurt her had he wanted to. He didn’t seem entirely in control, both russet and gold eyes alive with blooming flame. 

He didn’t kiss her this time, dipping his head instead to lick the side of her throat, teeth nipping the lobe of her ear. 

He slid down her body, eyes locked on hers. “You said I wouldn’t touch you unless you wanted it,” he taunted, spreading her further still so he could hook her knees over his powerful shoulders. The air was musky, salty just as Arina had said. She couldn’t believe she’d never noticed before. “Tell me you want me.”

“You disgust me,” she lied. 

“Say it,” he ordered, fingers curling against the fabric of her under garment. She felt the skin of his hand brush against her body and shuddered in spite of herself. “Say you want me, your mate.”

“I’ll close my eyes and imagine your brother,” she hissed, the ugliest lie she might have ever told him. Elain did close her eyes then, just to piss him off. Lucien’s mouth sucked against her clit without warning, the soft sensation of his lips causing her hips to bow off the grass, desperate in a way she’d never been in her life.

“Open your eyes,” he snarled. Their eyes met as his finger dipped into her pussy, feeling the tell-tale wetness she could not hide. “Say it, Elain.”

“I want you,” she whispered, soft enough she hoped he couldn’t hear.

“Beg,” he demanded. “Beg me lick you.”

She ached to feel his mouth against her again and yet it was humiliating to beg him for anything. Holding his gaze, Elain attempted to pull her legs from his shoulders.

“Be grateful I let you touch me at all,” she replied, her voice little more than a whine.

“Beg.” He was a dog with a bone, eyes dipping to her bare, spread open body. She could see how his muscles trembled, as though it took every ounce of his will power to stay where he was. No one had ever been half as undone as Lucien was in that moment. She thought he wasn’t trying to degrade her, but maybe reassure himself that it wasn’t just him losing his mind. Despite the anger and resentment burning between them, this attraction was not just one sided.

“Lucien,” she murmured, watching the shudder that ripped through him. “Please.”He lowered his head with a groan of relief, tongue sliding over her as if she were the first thing he’d ever truly tasted in his life. Elain gasped, lifting her hips to offer him better access. Lucien kept his finger in her body, pumping like his cock might, stroking the spongy softness of her until she was whining. 

He ate like a wild, ravenous animal, his tongue somehow everywhere at once. Sensation blended until she could see nothing but him, his eyes locked on her own. He wanted to see, wanted more than to just feel her fall apart. As though he could imprint the moment in his mind, could make it permanent, etched into stone. He pulled her up, up, up, a marked difference from how often she felt as if she were being dragged into the depthless dark. Light blurred her vision moments before she shattered. It wasn’t like falling—Elain floated, weightless on the wind, blissful for a moment as she reveled in release. 

It was Lucien who pulled her back to reality, still lapping at her as if he couldn’t stop until he tasted every bit of her orgasm. She pushed at his head to the sound of snarling, his eyes furious. She could hear his heart pounding in the air, could see how his shoulders shifted and bunched, so taut they practically rippled against the skin. He was more animal than anything in that moment. Not a man but male, feasting upon his mate like he’d been born to do. 

“Lucien,” she breathed, fingers tugging at his hair. “Lucien, it’s too much.” She was overly sensitive, squirming to escape his iron grip on her body. Lucien stopped, pressing his forehead to her thigh for a moment before standing quickly. He didn’t offer her a hand or any help at all, letting her slowly sit and smooth her rumpled skirt back over her body. He ran a hand through his wild hair, swallowing so loud she could hear it. 

“We can’t do that again,” he said hoarsely, not daring to look at her.

“Right,” she agreed, letting him stalk off into the night.

Elain pulled her top back over her head, burning with a different sort of humiliation.

He didn’t want her, either. She shouldn’t care.

But she did.

LUCIEN:

He was so utterly fucked. Pacing his bedroom, Lucien couldn’t get the taste of her pussy from his mouth or the burning urge from his chest to cement the bond. He needed to, had been mere inches from letting himself sink into a frenzy. He’d been plotting it in his head as he had her, where he could take her that no one would find, how he’d keep her captive until he managed to get her to feed him and what he’d do with her afterwards. It was all wrong. She was all wrong, had hurt him irreparably and still he was on his knees, lapping at her like her personal housepet. What did Elain care about his broken heart? She’d break it again when it suited her, would send him away, tail tucked between his legs.

He needed to leave. Let her win, he decided. What did it matter, in the scheme of things? He couldn’t be trusted around her, couldn’t trust himself to stay away. No matter what she did, how she treated him as an afterthought, he’d still want her. 

Lucien trusted Helion to understand. Trusted he wouldn’t betray his mother messily, that even Helion could understand the need to lick his wounds privately. Lucien would return in a decade or more, giving Elain time to tire with Day and leave for somewhere else…or time for him to move on, like he should have been trying to do from the beginning. 

He stepped into the hall, abandoning his things in the room behind him. Her door was shut tight and when he stopped to listen, he heard no noise at all. Not even the faint beating of her heart. Tentatively, he pushed open her bedroom door, surprised to find it unlocked. Her scent was everywhere, enveloping him fully as he crept in. If she caught him, she’d kill him.

She wasn’t in bed. Her neatly organized room was untouched, her blankets tucked neatly into the mattress. Had she come up from the hammock, or decided not to risk another run in?

He decided to check, ignoring the creeping voice that it was a bad idea. Who cared what she did, where she went? He’d just decided to leave. She wasn’t his friend—they’d never exchanged one pleasant word to the other. 

Hating himself the way back to the hammock, Lucien frowned when only the scent of her remained. It was late—the city was all but asleep at this point, leaving the drunkest stragglers to meander home or an alley where they might sleep. If she went down to Rhodes, she wouldn’t find anyone friendly. Elain was a beautiful female who was likely unarmed. He inhaled deeply on the wind as his brothers had taught him to do in Autumn, catching her scent wafting from the opposite direction. 

Lucien turned his head, eyes scanning the distance. He found only a series of jagged cliff sides overlooking the placid ocean, each taller than the last. He frowned, inhaling again just to be sure the wind wasn’t blowing her scent all over the place. Sure enough, little indents in the ground betrayed her path. 

“Elain?” he called. Elain wasn’t exactly a risk taker. What could she possibly want over there? New images of some shadowy stranger luring her into the dark. Panic washed over him, quickening his steps. She was so stupid, too trusting, too assured things would just work out. It wasn’t just her he was angry with…he’d left her in the dark, hadn’t he? Angry and resentful in equal measure, tired of being second best, of being the consolation prize when she couldn’t have what she really wanted. 

Lucien followed her scent and her steps to the steepest cliff, panting and out of breath when he reached the top. He was still mad, hands on his knees. Her trail just stopped and any hunter worth their salt knew what that meant. He’d followed the wrong one, had been tricked by the wind or an animal…or her shoes, sitting neatly a foot from the cliffside. 

His heart fell at his feet. Had she jumped? Surely not—the fall was likely to kill her the moment she hit the water. Lucien walked to the edge, cold fear sluicing through his chest. The waters surface rippled softly, the waves rolling towards a rocky shore. For a moment there was nothing—maybe she’d taken flight, snatched up by one of Night Court's bats. It would explain her missing scent, her left behind shoes. 

He was about to walk away, winnow to the River House just to be sure, when something floating far in the distance caught his eye. Lucien turned, the world stilling when he saw that hair fanned out, the pale face of his mate, eyes closed, her body floating atop the water. He hesitated—jumping might kill him, too. He didn’t dare risk it, not when losing consciousness would surely doom them both.

He raced to one of the smaller edges as fast as he could, shucking off his shoes as he went. Lucien dove, hitting the water in moments. He kicked to the surface, pushing his hair from his face so he could swim to her. It seemed to take forever—Lucien snatched her body from the water to the sound of a shrill scream and her flailing limbs. Relief poured over him just in time for her to hit him hard upside the face. 

“What are you doing?” he demanded angrily, holding her lithe body against his chest.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” she demanded. “Why are you following me?”

“I thought…” his voice trailed off. He felt stupid suddenly, like he ought to have known she was fine. He’d betrayed that he still cared, in spite of everything, offering her the power to hurt him again. Elain’s expression softened. He couldn’t stand it. “My mistake.”

He released his hold on her, swimming for the shore with a burning, aching chest. “Lucien!” she yelled after him, the sound of splashing just behind. He couldn’t stop, didn’t dare look back. Tears burned in his throat, threatening to drive him to his knees. 

Elain was a better swimmer than he gave her credit for, reaching him seconds after he was on the shore. He grabbed his wrist, tugging him back. “Lucien, wait—!”

“NO,” he roared, his anger from the last two and a half years spilling out. “Get your fucking hands off me! Don’t touch me. Don’t say my name.”

She released him instantly, hands raised in defense. “Lucien, let me–”

“No,” he said again, his voice cracking. “I waited on you, Elain. Four years, I waited. I pretended I didn’t notice what you were doing with Azriel, I gave you space, time even, to figure yourself out. To come to terms with your life, with me. I would have waited a hundred years if you’d asked. Glady. Gratefully. You though…you…”

Her arms wrapped around her body, as though she were holding herself together. She wore nothing but sheer underthings, the same he’d been touching a few hours before. Wet hair curled around her truly beautiful face. She was still so stunning, even with the misery etched over her features. Elain said nothing, bottom lip trembling. Her eyes were rounded, wide with an emotion he didn’t recognize. Lucien shook his head. “I want you so bad and I hate you. Every time I look at you, all I can think about is how I wasn’t what you wanted, that you’d be married to another male if he hadn’t left. I can’t be your consolation prize, Elain. I wont’ be the thing you distract yourself with while you piece together what he broke. I…”

He took a breath. “I’m leaving. You can have this court. I can’t stand to look at you anymore.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, brushed away quickly with her palm. Elain bit her lip for a moment, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She nodded, taking a careful breath as if she didn’t want him to hear her tears.

“I’m sorry,” she told him just as he’d been about to walk away. “Please don’t go.”

The words rang through his chest. Lucien didn’t dare move as she approached, not even when she reached out a small, trembling hand and placed it against his chest, right against his hammering heart. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not enough,” he replied, wishing so badly it was. Elain nodded again.

“Can’t there be a middle ground between bitter enemies and passionate lovers?”

“Such as?”

She didn’t scowl though he could see the effort it took to keep it off her face. “Friends?”

Friends didn’t want her the way he did. Elain pressed his hesitation, looking up with such open, unbridled hope. “Don’t leave your home because of me, Lucien.”

“Friends,” he repeated, well aware this was a test likely to blow up in his face. He almost told her the truth, that he couldn’t be friends with the same female he wanted to love, with the female he hated. 

“Stay,” she added, asking for the first time in her life. “If you can’t…” she sucked in a breath. “If you can’t be friends with me, I’ll go.”

“Go where?” He couldn’t keep the growl from his voice. Elain winced, hand falling to her side.

“Back to Velaris,” she murmured, eyes shifting to the ground. “You should stay.”

Lucien knew precisely what would happen if she returned. She’d vanish, retreating into the darkness where no one saw her, where she could disappear without anyone noticing. He shouldn’t have cared. It was what she deserved, a miserable life all alone in the place she hated the most. 

“Friends,” he forced himself to say. Elain’s body seemed to brighten, as if she, too, might glow. Elain offered him a tentative smile, one he found far more pleasing than the scowls he was so often on the receiving end of. 

“Let me make it up to you,” she said breathlessly, her hope nearly infectious. “I can be a good friend.”

Lucien didn’t dare let himself believe her, didn’t dare take anything she said to heart. She meant only to assuage her own guilt.

And still.

Lucien nodded. “We can try.”

[bowdawn]

pearls

As Elain tries to live her life ignoring her mate, sometimes he makes it impossible. This was suppose to be for elucien week, alas my anxiety took the best of me.

Read on AO3

Elain woke soaking wet. Panting as she tried to catch her breath. She had another one of those dreams.

She couldn't shake the feeling away, the invasion of him - always. He always haunted her, either his presence in Velaris, or coming to the Winter Solstice, or even in her dreams.

Needing water, Elain got up and went to the kitchen. As she drank from the cup her mind went back to the dream.

"Lucien, you must be daft." A human man with brown hair said. "It's freezing."

Lucien, himself, said nothing. He just peeled his jacket, shirt, and boots, giving them to the man.

Slowly he walked towards the river not thinking twice before diving. The man watched him, shaking his head in disbelief.

He didn't take too long before going back to the surface, holding a mussel. "Hand me my knife Jurian."

Jurian tossed him lazily the weapon, yet Lucien caught it without any trouble. Slowly he ran his long, tanned finger right by the edge of the mussel. A spark of fire warmed it for the knife.

The mussel opened easily.

"There, let's go home. Vassa will be back soon." Jurian spoke and Lucien ignored him.

Between Lucien's fingers was a pearl, shining against his heat. "No. This won't do." He tossed his knife to Jurian, diving once more. He repeated that countless times, gathering the pearls he liked, making Jurian hold them as if they were a newborn.

By the time he was finished the sun was setting.

The cold didn't seem to bother him at all, Lucien only shook his wet hair and dressed once more. Putting every single pearl in a velvet bag.

"Satisfied?" Jurian tried to sound like teasing, but there was worry in his voice.

"I'm sure Elain will love them." Lucien sounded so confident, he looked pleased. "She wears them sometimes. She has a hair-pin that are river pearls, this will match those nicely."

Jurian hummed beside him.

Vassa was waiting for them at the house already. Curled by the sofa, eating a hot stew. "I was wondering where you two went." Looking at Lucien her eyes grew wide. "What did you do to him, Jurian?"

Jurian's hand flew up. "He did that himself. Don't look at me."

Lucien walked and stood by the fire, letting his own powers dry him better. 

"Tell me." Ever the queen, Vassa demanded to know everything. 

"You would not approve." Lucien's words were sharp. Vassa took an intake of breath, looking at Jurian.

The man only sighed. "Just tell her Lucien, before she starts to nag me about it."

Before Vassa could protest - or maybe throw the bowl she was eating, Lucien sat by the armchair and showed her the pearls.

Vassa tsked. "I'm guessing this is for your… mate."

"You have to stop not liking her." Lucien did not sound angry very often. Lately only Elain would make such a reaction to him.

"I don't like that she doesn't even talk to you, Lucien. She could at least hold a conversation instead of ignoring you every time you visit."

"She has been through enough, I'm giving her space and time."

"You're crawling to her as if she was the sun herself and she will hurt you." As Vassa spoke, Jurian sat by the couch, taking her bowl and taking a few bites. Not bothered by their fight.

"She is my mate Vassa, and I can handle this."

"Fine. But she better love those pearls, or I will fly to Velaris and beak her until her skin is raw." Vassa took the bowl back from Jurian before slapping his hands. 

"What will you do with them anyway? A necklace?" Jurian asked.

Lucien smiled. "I think a pair of earrings. Her father told me she had her mother's pearl necklace, but not the earrings."

"I may know a jeweller that would do a nice job of it." Vassa offered. With her warning done, she felt compelled to help her friend.

Lucien shook his head. "I'm going to do it. I've sent word to the female that had done my eye and she agreed to do the base for me. I just need to polish the pearls before sending to her." 

At that, Lucien pulled the side table in front of him, setting all the pearls in display. Carefully he looked one by one until he seemed content with two. Holding one between his fingers, Lucien set his fire to envelop the pearl while rolling it around. And just like that, Lucien had a perfect pearl at the palm of his hand.

"Well, you're romantic. I'll give you that." Jurian spoke as he took the bowl from Vassa's hand and took another bite.

Vassa was quiet looking at it. When she spoke her voice was sad. "It's beautiful Lucien. She will love them."

Elain didn't love the earrings as he was hoping. He lied in bed thinking over and over of the face she made when he handed her the gift.

Lucien knew he shouldn't have let the hope of a nice gift fill him. He damn knew Elain didn't want him. She didn't want a mate. Or at least she didn't want him as hers.

He was not the ideal male, Lucien knew that much. He had helped Tamlin to kidnap her, and had given her so much pain. He knew about the rumours around people's tongues about him. Knew they called him a fox.

Lucien knew he wasn't really worthy of her. Knew he had too many scars, physicals and mentally, that would make any female avoid him. Knew that his family was a problem.

And of course Elain would be no different. Even as his mate, she could see him through and that was it.

Once, long ago, Lucien found love - Jesmida. The guilt he still felt over her death should have been enough of a warning against all of this. He had loved Jesmida, and he had thought he lost his mate when she died. 

Lucien took days to understand she had not been his mate when Elain came into his life. He tried to not care about having her as a mate, because he had loved someone wholly already.

It wasn't enough. Everything on his being demanding of him to just see her. He had a second chance, he would not fuck that up.

Only fate wasn't so nice to him. He should have learnt the lesson long ago.

He left his bed, his heart beating against his ribs. He could feel her so near. Lucien had to use every ounce of self-control to just not walk towards her.

His glamoured eye made him stop, showing him behind a wall. There she stood, with Azriel, exchanging gifts. There she stood, heart beating fast, wanting another male. There she stood, watching the male with desire and trust that not once she had shown to him.

Lucien made his way back to his room. Heart pounding even worse than before. His instincts told him to go there. Take her. Mine. Mine. Mine. His mind told him she had every right to be with anyone she wanted. His heart, hurt.

Lucien didn't go back to sleep. Instead he watched the new day come through the window. He thought of nothing, other than that he had been a fool. He should let go of her, Elain didn't want him.

But he couldn't. He lacked the strength and the courage.

Instead Lucien dressed, ate his breakfast as if nothing was unusual. Talked to Rhysand about his work and left. Like many times, without saying goodbye to her.

He wouldn't come back. Not to see her at least.

Elain sat by the kitchen's chair, cold from the memories. From how his feelings were so raw and so real to her.

She couldn't put herself to go after him. Accepting him would mean her old life was completely gone. Accepting him would mean she was indeed fae. That she had a mate. A male that could claim her.

All Elain wanted was to be like she had once been.

Slowly she made her way back to her room. Instead of going to bed, Elain opened her wardrobe and pulled a box hidden on the back. The earrings nestled inside a velvet box, like he had given to her. 

Picking them up with shaking hands Elain could see how gorgeous they were. She had loved them as soon as she saw them, and it scared her to know this male could know her better than anyone in that room. Even when she avoided him at all costs.

And he had gathered those pearls himself. Selecting only the best. Had polish them and asked for an artist to do the metalwork. 

Heat brushed from her chest to her face. 

If Elain was daring enough, she would have said this was what love really should feel. 

Instead she walked towards her vanity mirror and put them on her ears. They were gorgeous indeed. And it gave her - not so liked - pointy ears an elegant look.

Walking back to her wardrobe, Elain picked the jacket inside the box. The one thing that would always calm her on her most reckless nights. It still smelled like him, even after so many years. All the previous nights, Elain had felt ashamed for having to use that jacket. Tonight she felt content.

When she laid in bed, with blankets covering her, Elain took a deep breath. Not really sure of what she might do, but calmer than she had been in a long time.

And if she even tried to be courageous, Elain would say she felt hope.

Lucien woke up startled in the middle of the night. His chest hurt, not of the bad kind. A feeling of belonging was blooming inside him. Something he had not foreseen was coming.

[demonlovesangel]

Elucien VS Elriel throughout the books

Brace yourselves because this is going to be a LONG post but I'm going to do it because people seem to disregard Elain's feelings at all times, especially regarding how she reacts around both Lucien and Azriel. So here we go!

And by the way I'm only going to count actual interactions to make it fair, and the most important ones because if not I would be here all day.

Acomaf

Elucien

As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain. She cringed away from the coat, from him-

~

But Elain was staring over Nesta's shoulder.

At Lucien- whose face she had finally taken in.

Elriel

Elain said, "It's all very disorienting."

"I can imagine," Azriel said. Cassian flashed him a glare but Azriel's attention was on my sister, a polite bland smile on his face. Her shoulders loosened a bit.

~

Rhys chuckled, Cassian's wrath slipping enough that he grinned, and Elain, noticing Azriel's ease as proof that things weren't indeed about to go badly, offered one of her own as well.

In Acomaf we can see the start of both relationships, but they start with a real difference. Elain and Azriel get along from the very beginning, whereas with Lucien she cringes away because he's one of the reasons she was turned and she doesn't know him, even if she did realize he's her mate.

With Azriel though they talk about his flying, how beautiful it is, she smiles and asks him directly every time. Their interactions come naturally.

Acowar

Elucien

For a long moment, Elain's face did not shift, but those eyes seemed to focus a bit more. "Lucien," she said at last, and he clenched his teacup to keep from shuddering at the sound of his name on her mouth. "From my sister's stories. Her friend."

"Yes."

But Elain blinked slowly. "You were in Hybern."

"Yes." It was all he could say.

"You betrayed us."

He wished she'd shoved him out of the window behind her. "It- it was a mistake."

Her eyes went frank and cold. "I was to be married in a few days."

~

She looked away- towards the windows. "I can hear your heart," she said quietly.

He wasn't sure how to respond, so he said nothing, and drained his tea, even as it burned his mouth.

"When I sleep," she murmured, "I can her your heart beating through the stone." She angled her head, as if the city held some answer. "Can you hear mine?"

He wasn't sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, "No, lady. I cannot."

Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. "No one ever does. No one ever looked- not really." A bramble of words. Her voice strained to a whisper. "He did. He saw me. He will not now."

~

Elain sidled toward Nesta, who seemed to be at a near-simmer. "It felt... strange," Elain breathed. "Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib."

Lucien exposed his palms to her. "I'm sorry."

Elain only stared at him for a long moment. And any lucidity faded as she shook her head...

~

But Elain said nothing. Did not so much as take one step downward.

Lucien inclined his head in a bow the movement hiding the gleam of his eye- the longing and sadness.

And when Lucien turned to signal to Rhys to go... He did not glance back at Elain.

Did not see the half step she took towards the stairs- as if she'd speak to him. Stop him.

~

"I'm fine," Elain said quietly. And then asked, noticing the gore on him, the torn clothes and still-bloody weapons, "Are you-"

"Well, I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live, but... Yes, I'm in one piece."

A faint smile bloomed on Elain's lips.

~

Lucien shrugged. "First- here. To help. Then..." Another glance at Elain. "Who knows?"

I nudged Elain, who blinked at me, then blurted, "You could come to Velaris."

Elriel

Elain peered up at his patient, solemn face.

Azriel smiled faintly. "Would you like me to show you the garden?"

She seemed so small before him, so fragile compared to the scales of his fighting leathers, the breath of his shoulder. The wings peeking over them.

But Elain did not balk from him did not shy away as she nodded- just once.

Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn't tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, "Beautiful."

~

"I can help her," said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his finger as he extended a hand.

Nesta monitored him like a hawk but kept silent as Elain took his hand, and out they went.

~

The shadowsinger angled his head.

Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, "Should we- does she need...?"

"She doesn't need anything," Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.

Elain was staring at the spymaster now- unblinkingly.

"We're the ones who need..." Azriel trailed off. "A seer," He said, more to himself than us. "The Cauldron made you a seer."

~

Azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. "You came for me." The shadowsinger only inclined his head.

~

Yet Elain didn't seem to notice them as she rose up on her toes and kissed the shadowsinger's cheek...

~

Elain weighed my words... And slowly closed her fingers around the blade.

(...)

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade.

What is funny to me here, is how the relationship between Elain and Lucien seems forced but at the same time they kind of try. She directly says to him he betrayed them, continued to ignore him and eventually she did try to get close (in her own way) but apparently decided against it. And at the end even Feyre has to nudge Elain to say something to Lucien, which she did.

Elain's relationship with Az starts off from him putting her down on the town house's foyer, and her never balking away from him. Like literally never, in all their interactions she takes his arm, his hands, looks at him unblinkingly, and even kisses his cheek. Ends up accepting Truth-Teller too, and locking eyes with Azriel. The sweetest girl is not afraid of the most frightening illyrian male... Considering how Elain is, that says a lot.

You can look at this in many ways, but no one can deny that by this book, Az and Elain have a mutual understanding and chemistry.

Acofas

Elucien

A sidelong glance toward Elain, swift and fleeting. "Both of you."

Elain said nothing, but at least she bowed her head in thanks.

~

My sister rose to her feet. "I should get refreshments."

Lucien rose as well. "No need to trouble yourself. I'm-"

But she was already out of the room.

Elriel

Azriel emerged from the sitting room, a glass of wine in hand and wings tucked back to reveal his fine, yet simple black jacket and pants.

I felt, more than saw, my sister go still as he approached. Her throat bobbed.

(...)

But I strode to my seat- nestled between Amren and Mor- in time to see Elain say to Azriel, "Hello."

(...)

But Azriel only took Elain's heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, "Sit. I'll take care of it."

Elain's hands remained in midair, as if the ghost of the dish remained between them...

~

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. "It's for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often."

Silence again.

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.

(...)

Elain smiled again, ducking her head.

~

Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room my sister showing him the plans she'd sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight.

Honestly, for me, this is by far the most telling book even if it is a novella.

The interaction between Lucien and Elain was so forced. She didn't want to be there, he was kind of uncomfortable too and he even says he can't stand being in the same room as her. Afterwards Elain clearly shows no interest in him and even leaves the room. And Elain says to Feyre that he's not entitled to her affections of attentions, we really need to pay attention to her!

With Azriel though... Wow, their interactions just kept on growing and growing. Elain is clearly affected when she looks at him, her throat bobs, she gets all shy (in a good way), smiles at him too, and even gifts him the headache powder because she was paying attention to him throughout the previous months. That clearly says how much she's been noticing Azriel. Not to mention she explains all her gardening plans and they stay talking after everyone went to bed.

I honestly think it's really cute and that's how a relationship should develop.

Acosf

Elucien

Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.

~

He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian's heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien's face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of the newfound boldness to be seen.

Elriel

"I always thought she was born on the wrong side of the wall," Elain admitted. "She made ballrooms into battlefields and plotted like any general. Like you two," she said, nodding to Cassian, and then, a bit more shyly, to Azriel.

Azriel offered her a small smile that Elain quickly looked away from.

~

"I was just checking on dessert," Elain explained as they approached the doorway and Azriel. Nesta met the shadowsinger's stare and he gave her a nod. Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain's breath caught slightly, she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.

By this point it's just painfully obvious. Both Lucien and Elain are uncomfortable with each other even if Lucien still does try (but I still think it's because of the mating bond, not because he likes her). He even says in a previous chapter that he's not always in Velaris to see his mate and looks uncomfortable saying that.

With Azriel we can see something has happened or is happening. Small glances, Elain getting shy but smiling at him, him smiling at her and her looking away? That charged look? Elain's breath caught slightly? There's definitely something going on there and we know what it is from Az's PoV. By that point they have been looking at each other, smiling and brushing hands, not to mention Elain started every single interaction in that PoV. She wanted to kiss him, and gifted him another funny and thoughtful gift yet again because she notices him.

~

I didn't put every single one of the interactions, just the ones that said a lot from Elain's reactions because that's the point of this post, to show how she clearly acts around the two males. And I didn't put the PoV because it's a bonus chapter even when it clarifies Elain's feelings.

With Lucien it's forced, she cringes away, doesn't know what to do, and in the end she's just uncomfortable and clearly doesn't want anything regarding their situation.

With Azriel it started off naturally, they developed a friendship with mutual understanding and respect, and it evolved into something else. The interest in each other was always there. Clearly both of them don't know what to do with this because the feelings are strong and have been there for a long time (at the very least a year because of the last Winter Solstice). From the PoV we know it's not easy, even if both of them like each other (Elain has a mate whether she likes it or not). By this point, because of all the external influences, they can't be together, but I think that's what going to play off in her book, choice.

We need to take into account Elain's reactions and choices. Elain's book is most probably the next one, she's going to be the main character as Feyre and Nesta were. What she wants or needs is what matters, not what everyone else thinks. And from all her scenes we can gather that she's going to fight to make everyone change their mind regarding what she wants to do, who she wants to be.

As you would with a female friend, be supportive of her journey and choices and don't bring her down because it's not what you would have chosen for yourself. Everyone deserves the world, and everyone needs to follow their own path and make their own choices.

[icedflames]

What are your top favorite Elriel moments

Eeee!! I have so many! My personal favorites are these:

Azriel arrived first, no shadows to be seen, my sister a pale, golden mass in his arms. He, too, wore his Illyrian armor, Elain’s golden-brown hair snagging in some of the black scales across his chest and shoulders. He set her down gently on the foyer carpet, having carried her in through the front door. Elain peered up at his patient, solemn face. Azriel smiled faintly. “Would you like me to show you the garden?” (ACOWAR, Chp. 24)

I MEAN COME ON!!! Her pretty gold hair just sprawled across his black armor!!! He carried her through the door!!! She peered up at him!! Azriel smiled and asked if she wanted to go to the gardens.

This was probably the scene where I was like ok yes I like this, I want this.

From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.” Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.” (ACOWAR, Chp. 64)

MY GOD. Azriel is the first to notice Elain is gone. Azriel, on his own volition, said he would get her back, even if he dies in the process. He is angry and full of rage. It honestly sounds like mate-like behavior.

But I strode to my seat—nestled between Amren and Mor—in time to see Elain say to Azriel, “Hello.” Az said nothing. No, he just moved toward her. Mor tensed beside me. But Azriel only took Elain’s heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, “Sit. I’ll take care of it.” Elain’s hands remained in midair, as if the ghost of the dish remained between them. With a blink, she lowered them, and noticed her apron. “I—I’ll be right back,” she murmured, and hurried down the hall before I could explain that no one cared if she showed up to dinner covered in flour and that she should just sit. (ACOFAS, Chp. 12)

Azriel just moved towards Elain and took the dish form her. Like it's such a simple and mundane thing but you can feel the romantic tension and I'm swooning. And so is Elain. Clearly.

I made to move toward her, but someone beat me to it.

The shadowsinger was clad in a black jacket and pants similar to Rhysand’s—the fabric immaculately tailored and built to fit his wings. He still wore his Siphons atop either hand, and shadows trailed his footsteps, curling like swirled embers, but there was little sign of the warrior otherwise. Especially as he gently said to my sister, “Happy Solstice.” (ACOFAS, Chp. 19)

Again we have Azriel initiating contact with Elain. He's so gentle with her. It hurts.

“Because of the shit with Elain?” Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?" Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened. (ACOSF, Chp. 19)

Azriel thinking that Elain was hurt gets him all riled up. Eeeeeeee.

Elain just linked her arm through Nesta’s and led her toward the family room, where Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he’d heard Elain’s sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it.

“I was just checking on dessert,” Elain explained as they approached the doorway and Azriel. Nesta met the shadowsinger’s stare and he gave her a nod. Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.” (ACOSF, Chp. 58)

And this is my latest and greatest favorite moment. Like can we talk about this for a second?

Azriel followed the sound of Elain's laughter and wanted to see what brought her such joy.

Elain and Azriel locked eyes and even Nesta noticed that something charged went through it, between them. She noticed the sexual tension and romantic chemistry between them. It was so palpable that even thought it was utterly neutral, it was still enough for a different character to notice it. And Elain's breath caught. PLEASE.

Az tried not to look at his scarred fingers as they took the gift. She hadn't bought her mate a present. But she'd gotten Azriel one last year -- a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he’d slept there. Or attempted to sleep there. (ACOSF, Azriel Bonus Chapter)

And finally, finally. If we were all wondering if Azriel had the same feelings for Elain...

Elain didn't get her mate a present. But she got Azriel one. And that made him feel special.

He looked at the present EVERY night. Every night. Meaning, her gift, Elain, was the last thing on his mind before he slept. Like jeeeeeez louise. I can't, I can't.

Honestly though, I could add the moment Elain gave him the headache powder and Feyre remarks that she had never heard a sound so joyous (Azriel's laugh) and Azriel's eyes so bright. Or the part where Elain looks at Azriel's hands (or siphons but probably his hands) and breathes, "Beautiful." Or the part where Azriel gives Elain Truth-Teller and Rhys says that Azriel has never let anybody touch that knife. Or where Azriel is the one to discover Elain is a seer. Or the multiple occasions where Azriel gets jealous of Lucien. Or the part where Azriel's shadows want to strike Nesta for the percieved slight against Elain. Or where Azriel is just as protective over Elain as Cassian is over Nesta when it came to scrying. Or the part where Azriel had to stand by the door during solstice because it physically pained him to be near Lucien and Elain. And the list goes on, and on, and on.

[elriell]

Chapter Two—  

[Chapter 1]

In The Absence of Light

Restless sleep continued to plague her the following nights, just as she had feared the cold spikes of anxiety that crippled her mind refused to ease up their battle for control.

Azriel never mentioned their tense early morning encounter, but she could not deny that after his departure she had finally managed to succumb to a few good hours of rest, and for that she was grateful. She put it down to simply feeling calmer after seeing a friend and refused to look any further in to why that would be.  

So, when Elain saw him over breakfast, she offered him a genuine smile and accepted the muffin he silently offered her in return. She tried not to dwell on the fact that he did not in truth look as if he had been blessed with a good sleep, as she had.  

~

Several nights had passed since then and time trickled by slowly, each night she found herself staring up at the ceiling, tossing and turning among the expensive linens, unable to settle down. Vivid dreams swirled around in her head; the same thoughts as always, they appeared to be taking up permanent residency, she was less than pleased with that realization.  

Every noise poked at her subconscious, taunting her mockingly. She let out a sigh at the ridiculousness of her thoughts, as if the branches crashing in the wind could possibly be trying to ridicule her, she truly was losing it alltogether. Taking a deep breath, she gave up on her quest for sleep and slid her feet in the soft pair of slippers and set off for the kitchen, doing her best not to awake anyone on her path, though she doubted she would, everyone in this house seemed to sleep through most her terrors.  

Lost in her own scattered thoughts she barely saw him lent over, in truth he looked as though he too was in his own world. Strong powerful arms flexed over the sink as he gazed out the window in to the gardens below. The dark leathery wings hung limply behind him, he painted quite the sorrowful picture, moonlight casting down upon him.

A fallen angel, infinitely beautiful and untouchable in an heartbreaking way.  

“Trouble sleeping?” His honey voice caught her off guard, she really had to stop being surprised when it came to the shadow-singer, his instincts were sharp as the thorns that she tried to avoid when gardening.  

“Seems to be going around these days.” A soft shrug. “I was just going to make myself something warm, would you join me?”  

He turned towards her at that and it struck her as it always did how easily he concealed his emotions, as if he could carefully tuck them away in a box and forget about them. His eyes however spoke volumes, they were devastating to her mental resolve, a crack splintering straight to her heart.

“I would like that very much.”  Agreeing gently.

Elain willed herself to focus on the task at hand; warming up some milk for the both of them. She felt more than heard him shuffle amongst the kitchen retrieving mugs and placing them to her left, returning to his former place. “Thank you for the other night— No, no, no... Please don't stop me, I want to, no I need to. I haven’t gotten that much sleep-in months, so thank you.”

A small blush crept up his face much to her quiet delight, it was such a rarity to pierce his stoic exterior.

She poured them both a cup each and set out to retrieve some cookies from a jar she had baked earlier in the day, once she had set a sufficient amount on a plate, she joined Azriel at the small breakfast table at the far end of the room.

Though dark out it was a beautiful spot, the whole side of the wall was built from different shades of stained glass and under the moonlight it shone a messy pattern of colors across the cobblestone floor, it had quite easily become one of her favorite places once her nightmares began. A colorful sanctuary to be at ease.

There were so many questions on the tip of her tongue, she wondered so much about him, about his troubles, his travels, about Nesta, who she had not received any letters from since her departure though that was no surprise all things considered. She wished she could tell her she had not known of the plans, wished she could have at least said goodbye, god, she wished for so many things.

Perhaps she would ask Azriel to take her on his next visit to the mountains, she filed that away for another day.  

“I suppose the tonic didn't work then?” He inquired before dunking a cookie in to his mug.

“Ah—” Hesitating for a beat too long. “It's alright you needn't lie to me; your secrets are your own. If you do not wish to say I shall not bring it up again.”  He jumped in before she finished.

Truth. She knew without a doubt he would not push her, would accept whatever she was willing to give.  

“That is quite alright, to be honest with you Azriel, I am not sure I quite know myself.” She considered it carefully. “I think deep down, beneath every excuse, I just, well I just don’t want to be...”

“Medicated.” He finished for her.

It should not surprise her after all this time, he was always able to read her seamlessly and understand her completely even when she wasn’t sure she understood herself. He was able to deduce that she was a Seer when the rest thought she was going mad, even her own mate, scoffing internally at the word. It was a shame, she supposed, that it had nothing to do with Lucien. He was a good enough man but she simply couldn’t handle the burden that such a bond posed after the events of last year.  

“Exactly.”

He was uncharacteristically sheepish when he asked, “It’s not my place, but is something wrong? Lucien?” He stumbled over the last word as if he found it hard to roll off his tongue. Odd. Azriel rarely if ever spoke on the subject of the former spring court emissary, almost seemed to avoid it at all costs.

Upon reflection she could not think of one time through their many conversations that he had ever inquired about him if she had not started the discussion.  

It was eery some days, it was as though he could see inside her soul, study her like a well-read book.

And if she was following that analogy through then she was certainly an old nattered forgotten book that was far too damaged to be of much value... She heard Nesta’s voice as the thought formed scolding her for thinking that any book would not hold its own important value in the world.  

“No.” She replied honestly. “I am not quite sure what is fuelling my problems only that they are rather determined at keeping me from a peaceful sleep. But enough about that, let us talk about better things, happier things, tell me about your favorite places to...”

And so, they would spend several hours hunched over the table talking in hushed tones about everything and nothing at all, refilling their mugs repeatedly as time faded away and all that remained was the moments within, the coloured light streaming over them bathing them in a pool of colours steadily shifting as the sun rose, not that either noticed until household staff awoke to prepare for the day.  

And when she returned to her bedchamber, she would not care on bit that she was still on the brink of exhaustion.

~

They developed quite a habit of it unexpectedly. At one point or another in the night when her sleep or lack there of, became too much to bare, she would wander down to the kitchen where inevitably he would be sat as if waiting for her.

She tried not to be so self-absorbed as to think it was solely because of her. But after the first few times happened and it became a reoccurring pattern, warm milk always lay on the table waiting for her, always warm, almost as if he could sense when she would arrive despite it changing most nights.

It did not help her ever growing endearment to him.

~

Although she knew Azriel would eventually grow bored of this habit they had formed, perhaps conversation would become tiresome to maintain for him but she promised to enjoy his company while it lasted.

He made her happy and the small private moments she would cherish among the bland parts of her day, though it wasn’t particularly healthy for either of them as it meant neither was sleeping much.

But it was a worthy sacrifice, all considered she was not sleeping before therefore she was not losing anything, however she did feel a twinge of guilt for the shadow-singer. Hoped it would not interfere with his day-to-day activities and not put him at greater risk whilst following out orders.  

But alas all good things must come to an end and last night would mark that for them both.

He had been uncharacteristically quiet all night, simply letting her ramble on about the new plans for opening up the back garden to prepare it for new flowers and wildlife, he had simply watched her for hours with a gentle “Mmm” and “Of course” along the way, in hindsight she should have guessed something was coming.

He arose from the bench first keeping his eyes locked to the ground, and fiddling with the lapels of his jacket seemingly trying to buy time, while the silence hung heavy in the air.  

“It seems there has been some problems arising in the northern territories and Rhys has asked that I head out for a few days to ensure it is nothing more serious.” Shifting his feet back and forth still reluctant to make eye contact.

“I see.” She really didn’t. “When are you to leave?”

The grimace was noticeable on his controlled face, “An hour ago. Give or take.”

He did not give her time to respond as he leaned over her, closer than they had been to each other in some time and he smelled like the woods after a rainfall if that could be a smell at all, fresh yet masculine. The kiss he planted on her forehead was so gentle had she not had her eyes open she scarcely would have felt it.  

Her lids fell and her breathing changed, and she wondered if one could feel as if their heart both stopped and raced at the same time, she was losing all sense of reason and by the time she regained her thoughts enough to open her eyes he was gone.  

His absence hit her quickly and she had to take a deep breath to hold back the tear stinging her eye, yet again she was left to her own devices. Perhaps it for the best that she not grow too reliant on his company, though she was infinitely grateful for his friendship and companionship she did not want him to feel burdened by her.  

This would give them some much needed separation and time to rebuild her mental walls and form some boundaries for herself.

~

The first night was not as bad as she expected and she tried to be optimistic that this was a new leaf for her.

Unfortunately, as she well knew nothing lasts for long, especially something good. Not for her. By the fourth night the dark void had returned in full to cause chaos on her mind, and so chaos spread, worsening night after night.  

Elaine’s nightly visits to the kitchen had not ceased they simply became a solitary adventure and as the week reached its end, she was near desperate for the relief of her favorite companion would provide.

Having overheard Mor speaking to Feyre in the lounge she was able to confirm that he had returned to the estate sometime midday, though his meetings with his High Lord kept him out of sight much to her disappointment.

She did her best to tame the growing excitement that bubbled up when she thought about his return.

Tonight, for a change she made no attempts to sleep simply busied herself with brushing out her curls and spraying her favorite perfume, feeling silly for going to such efforts. Truthfully though she knew that beneath whatever crush she had formed it had little to do with her attachment to him, it was his companionship and friendship she coveted most, he was a true and loyal friend, a rare thing to her these days.  

She made a promise to herself not mare it with her growing attraction. She refused to lose another person she cared about.

Which is why when she finally made it down to the kitchen after holding off as long as possible only to be greeted by an empty room, she felt her heart twinge. Feeling silly for simply assuming he would be there, for not even questioning it. Not that she blamed him, the kinder part of her hoped he was getting a descent nights rest again, refusing to think on it for long she made herself warm cocoa and set off for bed.

Unsurprisingly sleep did not come easy to her but at least on this night it was not the terrible evil that plagued her, rather the piercing eyes of her favorite spy.

As the hours ticked on and she grew more restless her body wrenched itself out of bed as if on its own accord, and paced a way across their home, it was as she reached the West Wing she realized where she had unconsciously ended up. It was not hard through process of elimination to work out which was his, no light shone beyond the door and no detectable sound either, though she doubted she would know if he was moving about.  

It was silly to have come all this way and she was well aware of how embarrassing her need to visit him was but as she stood with only a large oak door separating them, she understood exactly why she had come, because in that moment she finally felt calmer than she had all week, the anxiety that weaved its way through her reseeded slowly.  

She figured that it couldn’t hurt to stay for a few moments to calm down a little more before venturing back, it would not hurt anyone what they did not know.  

Unaware of when it happened, she found herself sliding down against the door until her bottom hit the cold cobblestones, it was a rather strange feeling that simply being in proximity to him would bring her such small comforts but so was the case as she felt exhaustion slowly creep over and when it came, she felt safe enough to let it take her, she closed her eyes and drifted away.

~

Pheeeeew, That was long and still a little sad but i promise it is going to get less DEPRESSING™️ I just want to lay the groundwork for what is going to happen 😉 I would love any and all critique as always, it is what fuels me!

Also i was almost finished writing the chapter but the title and colourful glass is inspired by the book I am re-reading with that name.

As always anyone who wants to be added or removed just let me know 🖤

@elriel-oblivion @elriel-incorrect-quotes @tswaney17 @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn @stars-falling @verifiefangirl @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @julemmaes @thefangirlofhp @empress-ofbloodshed @elrielllll @abraxos-is-toothless @julesherondalex @courtofjurdan @amitynotpity @libraryonthepond @mis-lil-red

[lu-undy]

lu lost perle eventually, mundy comforting him-just like you said before.

Here it is!

It was a quiet Saturday that day, but Lucien would remember it all of his remaining life. 

He was busy with the usual chores left and right in the house while his other half was in town. The van needed to be checked and the fridge nearly empty. 

Lucien changed the sheets on the bed and went to deal with the laundry. He whistled to himself as he came down the stairs with a basin in his hands containing said laundry. 

"Meow?" 

"Oui, ma chérie. Tu veux aider Papa?" 

[Yes, my darling. Do you want to help Papa?]

Lucien's white, long-haired cat followed her Papa, walking close behind him. As soon as he put the basin down, she jumped in the old sheets and rolled on her back. 

"Perle, non…" He chuckled and scratched her, tickling her all over her belly. She tried to gnaw on his fingers, grab them and push them away playfully. He pulled her out of the basin after a minute of playing and carried her in his arms to hug her, holding her like a baby.

He sat down on the floor and spent a few minutes cuddling with her, talking with her, exchanging headbutts and words of love and praise.

Lucien absolutely loved his cat, she was his counsellor, confidente and since he had rescued her when she was but a kitten, he watched over her and raised her as he would a daughter. And he remembered when he had rescued her. She had rescued him too.

Back in those days, more than a decade ago, he was on a mission and was coming back to his hotel room where he had found her at his door dirty, shivering and fragile. She was so dirty in fact that she was grey with patches of yellowish filth. 

She had hissed at him all the while climbing on his shoe and not letting go of his ankle. He remembered how she planted her still soft claws and little fangs into him. Lucien had of course pulled her out of him to get rid of her, but to no avail. She stayed on him and he had hated it…!

He had eventually entered his flat with her and gave her a bath. Lucien smiled as he remembered how she bit his hand as ferociously as she could, the poor thing, until he opened a can of tuna. Unsurprisingly enough, she soon preferred to plant her fangs there. 

Since then, they had learnt to live together, spy and kitten. And when the Frenchman came back home from work, she would suck all his attention to herself, meowing, asking for pets, for scratches and for more playtime until the poor thing was exhausted and would fall asleep holding Lucien's hand between her paws.

"Meow!"

"Ma chérie, je dois m'occuper des linges, donne-moi un petit instant."

[My darling, I need to take care of the laundry, give me a little instant.]

He stood back up and resumed his chores. 

In town, Mundy was making haste. He glanced one last time at the list that Lucien had hand-written for him. 

"Oh bugger, that's last week's one, isn't it?" He flipped the note and the back read "Je t'aime, mon chéri", which he now knew translated to "I love you, my darling."

Yeah, that was last week's note. Mundy shoved a hand in his pocket and took all the lists out, reading them back and front with his groceries bag in hand, in the middle of the market. And his awkward flipping of the little notes made him drop his bag. 

"Ah, bloody hell…!" He knelt down and picked them up. A woman kindly stopped to help him. "Thanks, mate."

"No worries." She smiled and took one of the notes from the ground. "Oh, your wife has a beautiful handwriting." 

Mundy's eyebrows jumped and he smiled. 

"Yeah, she does." He answered. 

"Here you go, you go it all back."

"Thanks again."

"No problem, have a nice day!" 

The woman went away and Mundy finally found the right note. He checked and when he was sure he hadn't forgotten anything, he headed back home. 

Lucien always asked him to throw away the past notes to not get confused between them all but Mundy couldn't. He loved those notes, they all had a different message on the back, but were all signed with a capital, cursive L and a heart. 

When he finally hit back home, Mundy opened the door wide and slipped in before pushing the door back with his foot, given that his hands were carrying the food bag.

"I'm home, Lu'! I got everything on the list." 

Mundy headed straight for the kitchen and put the bag down on the table. He then removed his jacket to get more comfortable, and hung it next to the front door. 

"Lu'?" 

The Frenchman was nowhere to be heard, so the Aussie started looking in every room. 

"Lu'? Where are you, love?" 

No one was downstairs so Mundy went upstairs. After looking in the bedroom and even the bathroom, he came out confused and frowning. 

"Where the hell is he…?" He wondered out loud while putting his hands on his hips. He came back to the kitchen, dragging his feet, and looked at the notes on the fridge. That was how Lucien communicated when he wasn't there, by leaving a note on the fridge. But there wasn't any new one. 

Hm. Odd.

Mundy turned to go back to the living room when a sight caught his eye through the French window, in the garden. 

"Gosh…" He rushed to it and opened it. "Lu'? What are you doing there? Oh?" 

The Frenchman was sitting cross-legged, his back to Mundy and his entire upper body rocking back and forth. 

"Lu'...?" 

When Mundy turned around him, his jaw dropped. Lucien was crying, holding Perle against his chest and rocking back and forth like a mad man. 

"What is it…?" Mundy crouched down. "What's wrong? Why're you holdin' Pearl like that?" 

The Frenchman couldn't speak, he couldn't move, he couldn't do anything but keep his eyes closed and let his tears stream down his face, continuously. His breath hitched each time he tried to catch it, before he would dive in his sorrow again. 

"What is it?" Mundy repeated and Lucien curled up even more on Perle. "Love, don't hold her that hard…" The Aussie put a hand between them, on Perle's fluff. "She'll claw you if you - oh, God…"

His pupils retracted to a dot when he felt how cold the cat was. His eyes darted to Perle, her face, her eyes that were still open.

"No… Give her over here…" 

Lucien was so overwhelmed that he did not fight Mundy back. The Aussie took the cat in his arms and realised how limp her body was. 

"Pearl…? Pearl, baby? Pearl? Talk to Dad? Meow to Papa, Pearl? Pearl?!" 

He sat down and scratched her cheeks, feeling his own burn with the tears rising. 

"Pearl, baby, say somethin', please?" 

Lucien lowered his head and covered face in his hands, drenching them with more tears. 

"Oh my God…" Mundy started crying too, sniffling between two bits of sentences. "When? When did she…?" 

"I don't know… I was dealing with the laundry… She came to play with me and then she went on her own way… Next time I saw her, she was… she was on the grass and… Mundy…" Lucien caught his breath in a staccato. "Mundy…" He burst out crying again, leaning on his lover. 

"I'm… Fuck…" Mundy pushed her eyelids to shut down. "We need to treat her right, baby, you hear me?" 

Lucien nodded, his forehead against Mundy's shoulder. 

"Right… Go in the house and get a box." 

"Mundy, I can't… I… Tell me she is fine, please… I… I can't live without her… She has been here for the past fifteen years or so… I can't, Mundy…" 

"Love, we gotta do what's right…" Mundy sniffled and looked down at his lover. "Y'know what, you hold her safe and I'll get what we need, yeah?" 

"Mundy, please, no…" Mundy gave him the cat and knelt down to lace his arms around Lucien.

"Love, I… There's nothing else anyone can do…I'm sorry, I'm so bloody sorry…"

"But Mundy… She was our baby… Perle, ma chérie… Mon amour… Mon bébé… Ma petite Perle chérie…"

[Pearl, my darling… My love… My baby… My little darling Perle…]

Lucien held her in his arms and curled on her to hug her as tight as possible, crying in her fur. Mundy held him and let his tears flow too for a minute or so, before he stood up. 

A moment later, he came back with a box and a shovel. He walked past Lucien and started digging in the garden. 

Lucien didn't pay attention to him and kept on talking to his cat as if she could still hear him. 

The sound of the shovel hitting the ground dissolved in the air and Lucien noticed only when it stopped, and the silence fell heavily. He turned to Mundy and saw the Aussie on his knees. Yeah, that hole was deep and big enough. 

"C'mere, Lu'. Bring her in." 

The Frenchman obeyed. He lay Perle in the box, and both him and Mundy closed it, crying all the while. When the box was lowered, they stood on all four and put the soil back, crying and mumbling, trying to bid farewell to the best friend and baby they both shared. 

When they were done, none of them could move. Their hands were dirty, as were their trousers from kneeling down on the ground, but none of them cared. They stayed there in the garden, on their knees. 

"Do you think that… we gave her a good life?" Lucien asked. 

Mundy turned his head to look at him before closing the gap between them and lacing an arm around his lover. 

"Yeah… Course, we did. She… She lived the best life she could ever have dreamt of. We… We treated her really well. I mean…" Mundy had to stop for an instant, to steady his breath. "We loved her so much… She was like… She was our baby, our little baby girl and… And you cooked for her from time to time and she'd always be there in the house… She'd be… She'd be playin' around with us and… Gosh, she was the best kitty ever. She was friendly and never attacked anyone. She loved to be the centre of attention and yeah, she loved pets and scratches and all that…"

"Mundy, I miss her…" Lucien turned and buried his head in Mundy's chest before crying more. 

Grieving took weeks. The house was oddly silent. No one was there to steal the chicken when Lucien was preparing it. No one was shedding their white hairs on Lucien's clothes. No one would wake Mundy up early for nothing else but attention. No one would nap in impossible locations and positions. And when either Lucien or Mundy opened the cupboard in the kitchen, no one came and meowed for treats.

The silence sometimes screamed loud. The absence of meows and noises of claws on the wooden floor was unbearable. 

That day, months after Perle had passed, Mundy was cleaning the house and realised that they hadn't dealt with Perle's toys, her bed, her cat tree and scratching post. All of her was still there, in the house. Neither him or Lucien had the strength to throw it away. It still counted too much. Mundy stared at Perle's little bed. He had built it with a few wooden planks and a pillow. Lucien had always chosen the pillow cases. They were all girly pink, or white with red hearts for example.

Mundy stared and stared. He sighed and Lucien saw him walk to the front door and take an umbrella. 

"Where are you going, mon amour?"

[My love]

"I won't be long." 

The Aussie exited the house. It was pouring outside and the umbrella was barely enough to protect him. He walked and walked. His heeled boots splashed into the thin layer of rain water on the pavement. 

Lucien was left home, alone. He hated it. He didn't know what to do. He tried watching some television, doing some chores, anything! The silence was making him mad. He did all the chores and even prepared some dinner, in the middle of the bloody afternoon, just to keep him busy, and the house a bit noisy! 

He ended up in the kitchen, looking through the French window where the grass had grown back, in that little corner. He had planted a little olive tree there now. Why? Because they had another one and Perle loved climbing it and playing with the olives when the time of the year was right. So there it was, the baby olive tree, growing as well as it could. 

Lucien sighed and wrapped his arms around himself. Mundy, please come back soon…

And as if God himself had heard him, the front door opened. 

"Mundy?"

"Yeah, love, it's me, I'm back, darl'."

Lucien went to him and took the umbrella away. 

"Where did you go? It is pouring rain outside, couldn't it wait? Look at you, you are drenched."

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. I had to pick this up." 

"Couldn't a new pair of shoes wait?" Lucien answered and took the drenched shoe box that Mundy was holding. "You left me alone and… It was horrible!" 

Mundy removed his boots and his jacket. 

"Look, gimme just a second. I'll take a quick shower and be right back with you."

Lucien looked at the shoe box and frowned. He put it next to Mundy's shoes near the front door and went to prepare some coffee. 

When the Aussie came back fresh and dry, he hugged his lover from behind in the kitchen and kissed his temple. 

"Hey, love."

Lucien didn't answer. 

"Where did you put the box I brought with me?" 

The Frenchman frowned.

"Next to your shoes."

"Oh, ok, be right back." Mundy went and returned a second later. "Love, come and sit on the sofa." 

Lucien grabbed both their coffee mugs and came to the living-room. He took a seat on the sofa and put the coffees on the coffee table. 

"Here." Mundy handed him the box. 

"Mundy, I do not need shoes." 

"Take it." 

"Mundy-"

"I said, take it. Open it and see." 

Lucien sighed. He took the box that he put on his lap and stared at it blankly for a second. He hated boxes now. 

"C'mon, open it." 

He placed his fingers left and right and lifted the cover. 

"Mon Dieu!" 

[My God!]

In the box lay a kitten. It was all grey and very fluffy with still its kitten fuzz. 

"What is this, Mundy?" 

"It's a kitten."

"I know, but what… I mean why?" Lucien asked, staring at the ball of fluff looking everywhere around it. 

"Meow…?" The mewl was adorable and it pinched Lucien's heart. 

"It's a baby girl. She's about two months old now. No one wants to adopt her cause people don't find grey cats pretty, so I took her from the shelter."

Lucien gently picked her up in his palms and pushed the box away to drop her on his lap. 

"What is her name?" 

"We can name her whatever we want, love." He smiled and Lucien's eyes filled with tears. He raised the kitten to his chest and hugged her dearly.

"Mon Dieu… She… She is so soft and…" 

"Yeah, she was the last one of the litter too. All her brothers and sisters got adopted."

"Poor creature…" Lucien's tears beaded at the corner of his eyes and as he blinked, they slid down his slim cheeks. 

"Yeah…" Mundy got closer and hugged his lover. "So what d'you wanna call her?" 

"Perle." Lucien answered without thinking for one second. 

"You sure? You named Pearl that way cause she was white. This one's grey."

"I know. But look at her… You did not see Perle when I rescued her but she looked similar to this one. She was a ball of grey hair too."

"We should name her something different." Mundy said. "She's not Pearl and she will never be her."

"I know, I just…"

The kitten mewled in Lucien's hands. He put her on his shoulder and she went to his neck and started playing with his face and his hair.

"Hey, it's fine. Let's have a think, yeah? She's grey this little one. What's grey?"

"I do not know…"

"Clouds?"

"Non." Lucien chuckled under the kitten's mewls. He offered more of his face and she touched his cheeks and headbutted him. "She is very excited…! Non, non, non, this is Papa's nose, don’t use your claws.”

“Meow!”

“Don’t talk back either, petit chaton cendré.”

“What did you call her?”

“Little ashen cat.” Lucien answered, playing with her on his lap.

“Ashy!”

“What?” 

“Her name. She could be Ash, Ashy, something like that.”

“What about Cinderella?” Lucien asked.

“Meow?”

“It comes from Cinder which is grey, non?”

“Yeah, go for Cinderella, or Cindy for short.” Mundy answered. “What would that be in French?”

“Cendrillon.” Lucien answered. “A beautiful, princess name.” 

The kitten played with his fingers.

“Now, I am Papa, and this scruffy man here is Dad.”

“Meow?”

“Scruffy?” Mundy repeated.

“Oui, you are scruffy, but I love your scruffiness.”

“Scruffy?” He repeated again and Lucien held the kitten up, facing Mundy.

“Cendrillon, do you find your Dad to be scruffy?”

“Meow!”

“See, she does!”

“No, she doesn’t!”

Both chuckled and Lucien freed their new baby on the carpet. She started discovering her vast new territory, one that she would soon call home. Meanwhile, Papa and Dad were still on the sofa.

“Thank you, Mundy.” Lucien snuggled against his lover.

“Hey now, it’s nothing.���

“Non, it is everything. I did not even think about saving a new kitten.”

“Nah, you can’t think straight when you’re sad, baby.” Mundy held his lover closer and kissed his hair. “Feel a bit better?”

“Oui, thanks to you again.”

“Bah, my pleasure, really. I love seeing that smile on your old face.”

“Old?!” Lucien exclaimed, his eyes opening wide.

“Well, if I’m scruffy, then you’re old.”

“Old?!”

“You're a good kind of old, like wine. You just keep gettin’ better and better. Can’t get enough of you.”

Mundy’s hands and lips made the Frenchman’s brain melt and his complaint dissolved in the heat of the embrace.

[houseofhurricane]

ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (11/32) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: Lucien is brought to the Night Court rather forcibly, and quite a few secrets come to the surface. You can find all previous chapters here, or read Bloom & Bone on AO3. If you'd like to get an early peek at chapter 11 and all future chapters, follow me on Instagram at @house.of.hurricane. Thank you for reading! ❤️

Lucien thinks at first that Rhysand used the knife because he interrupted a dinner with Tamlin and didn’t want to give the impression that Lucien was too cozy with the Night Court. If he really intended to cause harm, Rhysand would have sent Azriel. But as soon as Rhys winnows, as soon as he feels the line of pain begin to tear at his neck, he knows that the fury is real. He can hear it in Rhys’ voice, see it in Elain’s widened eyes. He’s not sure if his lie is so ingrained in him, or if they’re genuinely friends, but either way his gaze goes straight to hers, the power and the fear that radiate from her.

When she nods at him, he tries not to show his relief.

“Elain has told you that I lied about the mating bond?” he asks, trying to make his tone calm but not flippant.

“I find I do not care for being lied to, particularly when those lies involve my family,” Rhysand says, and Lucien watches as Elain flinches despite the High Lord’s silky tone, files the gesture away for further contemplation, as soon as he’s escaped this knife. “I also realize you are not usually so monumentally stupid, so I’d like you to explain this situation.”

“Since I was a child, I have had a talent for detecting spells and determining their creation and unraveling,” he says, watches as, two paces behind Rhysand, Feyre perks up at the scent of a secret she thinks only she knows. “This talent only increased when I was given this new eye.”

“Please tell me that this is going somewhere.” Rhys presses the knife a little harder, so that Lucien can feel his blood, still warm, down his shirt and tunic.

“Any deeper and he won’t be able to talk,” Azriel says, and for a moment Lucien is actually afraid. Then, thinking of his childhood, he steels himself. He’s dealt with worse and still survived.

“Sometimes I can see a mating bond. When it’s new, or when it’s forming,” he says. “I have kept a few secrets from that day.”

He feels Feyre step forward, and the pain in his neck lessens. They’ve realized, Rhys and Feyre, that they weren’t quite as clever as they’d thought, that someone knew their secret, have quickly calculated the extent of Lucien’s cover.

“Tell me Elain doesn’t have the King of Hybern for a mate,” she says, half-incredulous.

Elain steps forward, her hand going out to Rhysand as if she means to pluck the knife from his grip.

“It’s Tamlin,” Elain says, and Lucien watches the quiet devastation on her face as she looks behind her, at what he imagines is Feyre’s face. Rhysand can kill him now, and Lucien will die knowing he prevented this moment until it could be borne.

Finally, the knife falls away from his neck, and as Lucien reaches up to staunch the blood, he watches the room erupt into a muted form of chaos, Feyre and Nesta darting to embrace their sister, each of them trying to muffle their own little cries.

He’d thought that Elain had been remarkably calm in the wake of this revelation, but now, watching her sag into her sisters’ arms, he realizes that she was putting a brave face on the situation. He thinks of Vassa, all those lessons which had seemed pointless when Vassa had first proposed them, but which seem to have blossomed in Elain just when the moment of crisis arrived.

“You see why I had to lie,” Lucien says, mostly to Rhys, when everyone is calmer, when the Archeron sisters are tangled together on the nearest sofa, arms entwined and heads resting on each other’s shoulders, sisterhood in a dreamscape. “I swear on my life that I never meant to harm Elain. I never laid a hand on her.”

Elain murmurs something from her couch which he assumes is positive from the grateful look Feyre aims his way, the fact that Nesta does not snarl.

“My apologies,” Rhys tells him, and somehow his tone is sincere.

“I kept your secrets,” Lucien says, giving the words a snarl around the past tense.

“You also kept your own counsel, even while acting on behalf of this Court,” the High Lord points out, looming over him.

“I was not aware your borders extended so far.”

Lucien knows, even saying this, that the words are a miscalculation, that he’s pushed Rhys hard enough to put himself at a disadvantage. Sure enough, Azriel and Cassian have risen and advanced, ready to put Lucien in his place. This is why he dreads being in the thick of court intrigue -- his mind is quick enough for it, but his desires are too outsized to contain his impulses. And Vassa is still in Koschei’s clutches.

Finally, Rhysand speaks, picking at his jacket, as if he’d allow a piece of lint to perch there even for a moment.

“Tell me this, Lucien. Can I still trust you to be my emissary? Or are you saving the truth for Tamlin and your human companions?”

“My loyalty is earned,” he says, knowing that he’s pushing, but Lucien hears Vassa’s screams, sees the fear in her eyes before she disappeared, and though Rhysand tells pretty stories about alliances between human and fae, he still has a tendency to see humans as chess pieces in his strategic calculations. To him, Vassa’s value may be limited. “Help me recover Vassa.”

“Tell me everything that happened in the Spring Court and we will recover your queen.”

The possessive is a barb, but Lucien ignores it, glances over at Elain instead. She meets his eye, and it occurs to him that her expression is remarkably serene, given that she was crying only moments ago. But as soon as Feyre reaches for her, Elain ducks her head against her sister’s shoulder, gives no signal.

Still, he turns away from Rhysand, towards Elain. Amidst all the tension and magic in the room, he can feel the power coiled inside her, bright and piercing, like light off a mirror. Something in these last days has unveiled her power, though still her magic has been kept on a tight leash. Whether it is her own will of the magic’s desire, something ancient and instinctive in Lucien bows.

“Is it all right with you if I tell him everything?” He pitches his voice to the epitome of courtly sincerity, revealing nothing but an earnest politeness. Even so, he can feel the eyes of the room on him, calculating his motives.

He’s always known that the Night Court would never be his home, but still the reminders of this fact sting. All the while, Elain stays curled up, held by her sisters. It’s all Lucien can do to keep from gnashing his teeth.

Finally, Elain raises her head and meets his eye. Again, her gaze is too clear-eyed, but she manages a wobble in her voice when she says, “You have my permission.”

So Lucien tells Rhysand about that first night, when Elain’s arms disappeared, about the days he spent with Vassa by the lake, then in the village with Tamlin, the distrustful gazes of the villagers. He mentions Vassa’s friendship with Elain, the nightly lessons. He does not leave out Tamlin’s suspicions, the rift between them as Tamlin decided Lucien’s loyalty was to Rhysand and the Night Court, that he held onto some powerful secret which, in fact, was true, but much differently than Tamlin then imagined. He describes, in as much detail as he can recall, the events of the night before, though it seems to have been much further in the past, perhaps because every moment since is laden with the absence of Vassa, the scrabbling of his own brain as he tries to form a plan to rescue her. Finally, he reaches today’s journey to the village, the halting conversations and the hopefulness he’d felt. When he glances at Elain, he sees that she is rapt, her cheeks flushed, though she leans back against the couch as soon as she catches the direction of his gaze.

“And that brings me to the point where you showed up and ruined both a perfectly good dinner and tunic with your knife to my neck,” he drawls, raising both his empty palms toward Rhysand.

“You say Elain’s arms disappeared?” Feyre asks, before Rhysand has a chance to speak. “How is this connected to her powers?”

“I don’t think that Elain needs that bone to travel between worlds,” he says. “It’s possible that the binding of the object to her imparted these powers, but I suspect they are inherent, a gift from the Cauldron when she was Made.”

Amren’s gaze on Elain is difficult to parse, equal parts rage and longing and rueful, the kind of expression only she can conjure. “You’ll need training, girl.”

Elain only looks a little terrified as she asks, “Are you volunteering to train me?”

“Few beings in our world have lived in any other. Most of them reside in the Prison, if you’d like to choose another instructor,” Rhysand says, as if he hasn’t been fooled by Elain’s tears, either. She has skill enough to fool most courtiers, but a skilled observer with centuries of practice can still outsmart her.

“Is it possible that this power could help me rescue Vassa?” Still she forces her voice to waver. And maybe the tears are real. The Mother only knows what she must’ve felt, finding out that Tamlin was her mate.

“Koschei was not born of this world.” Amren studies her nails, already bored of this line of questioning. “Let’s see if we can find another, with a weapon that will slay him. We’ll start tomorrow.”

“And in the meantime, we will gather another round of intelligence on Koschei. Azriel will send patrols.”

“The Valkyries--” Nesta begins, but Rhys silences her with a languid wave of his hand.

“Let’s not show our full hand at the first sign of trouble,” he says. “We’ll need you on the rescue mission, I suspect.”

There’s a look between Gwyn and Nesta that promises trouble, but Lucien decides to focus on his own battles. Rhysand turns back to him.

“I would like you to remain here a few more days, in order to strategize.”

“The Spring Court--” he begins, thinking of the progress they’ve made in one day, of the estate that’s empty of all but the most essential servants and Melis warded in her chamber, of Tamlin’s longing glances at the woods.

“The Spring Court cannot keep its guests safe from capture,” Rhysand says, careful not to emphasize any particular word. “You are needed here, Lucien.”

As he always does in these situations, Lucien only nods. When he looks up, he sees Elain’s eyes on him.

&

&

&

The knock on his door later that night is not a surprise, only the gown Elain is wearing, one of the simple dresses she favors for long days in the garden, covered with a floral embroidery. He’d thought she’d embrace the role of amateur spy and wear black.

“I was wondering if you’d come,” he says, happier than he ever expected himself to be at the sight of her.

“I was worried you’d left already,” she says, darting glances down the hallway. “Will you let me in? Anyone who sees us will think you were lying when you said I wasn’t your mate.”

He doesn’t tell her that she’s too nervous for this to look like a secret tryst, only opens the door a bit wider, so that she’s forced to brush up against him, leave her scent on his shirt. Whatever Elain thinks, a secret affair is the least dangerous of their reasons for meeting at this hour.

“Rhysand says I cannot return to the Spring Court.” Elain stands at the center of the room, away from the walls, murmuring the words in a low tone that forces him to duck his head toward her.

“Tamlin has ruled his court for centuries without your intervention.”

“Didn’t he have advisors and aristos surrounding him? And you for an emissary?”

He considers Elain, her flushed cheeks and the sound of her questions, the pleading tone. He thinks about how she would look, standing with Tamlin in the great hall of the High Lord’s estate, crowned with jewels and flowers, the Lady of Spring, all smiles for her people and fingers laced sweetly in Tamlin’s. The knot of her power, a beacon inside her, unused, all those worlds collapsed into a star in her chest.

“You want to go to him,” he says, crossing his arms.

“He needs someone,” she says, her eyes fierce but her voice a little sulky. And Lucien knows that tone, because it is similar to the one he used for years, only he’d sounded sheepish, aiding and abetting Tamlin even when he knew better. He thinks of the day he’d spent with Tamlin, only hours ago, when there had been real promise, when he’d felt the pride he used to feel in the High Lord of Spring, when their friendship felt like an honor. It hurts a space inside of him, to stay away. But there is a chance that Tamlin can be the leader Lucien sometimes saw, in his best moments, not the self-pitying male he’s become since Amarantha.

So Lucien takes a deep breath and tries to lead Elain down the path he wishes he’d taken sooner.

“He can’t train you to use your powers.”

“And Amren can? You saw the look she gave me when you described them. Like she’d jump inside my skin.”

“Rhysand will happily supervise your sessions.” He levels a smirk at her. Last night, she had forced him to stay grounded in the Spring Court. He owes her the same courtesy.

“Let him claim my power, then.” Her voice is very small within the room, now, as if it is disappearing inside of her, and Lucien begins to worry that Elain, steered away from the Spring Court, will vanish into some other place where no one can reach her. Luckily, he’s played this game before and won, brought her back to corporeality.

“I thought Vassa was training you to be a queen. That you didn’t want to be an ornament. This is what it means to have influence, to build a legacy. You do not have to be the plaything of a powerful male, no matter how irresistible you might find him.”

He’s rewarded with the rolling of her eyes.

“So you’d have me try and use these powers, even if they’re a distraction from Vassa?”

“Koschei was very interested in you. Like it or not, Elain, you will be his next target, and he will find a way to claim you, particularly if you cannot defend yourself.”

She’s silent for a moment, and then her eyes narrow, and suddenly she looks like Nesta, all frigid calculation.

“You’re not going to stay here, are you?”

“I’ll return by morning.” This much, he can trust her with.

“You cannot go to Koschei without a plan.”

“You cannot go to Tamlin without training.”

“Are you going to the Spring Court?” Her eyes are practically slitted, daring him to admit the truth.

“Can I trust you with a secret?”

“I’ve learned to guard my secrets from Feyre and Rhysand.”

“Rhysand is too honorable to look inside your mind.”

“And Feyre?”

“She has power but lacks the finesse of a daemati with centuries of training. Your sister can be fooled without realizing.”

“She went into your mind.” A statement that longs to be a question. Elain, he’s coming to realize, always wants to believe in a better world, in the kind of people who would make its perfect kings and queens. “I’m sorry, Lucien.”

He waves her apology aside, says only: “She wanted to protect you. She still wants to protect you.”

“I’m afraid she’ll see I’m not worth her protection.”

“Because of Tamlin?”

Elain’s features twist, but too quickly she reverts to a more pleasant expression, and then she says, “You’re trying to change the subject. Tell me your secret.”

“I think I’ve made some progress on Vassa’s enchantment. I’d like to run my findings past Helion.”

“And he’d receive you at this hour.”

“Of course.”

A second too late, Lucien realizes that Elain did not ask a question.

“What did your sister tell you?”

“She thought -- none of us thought you knew.” She’s flushed from the crown of her head to the neckline of her gown.

“You thought I couldn’t recognize my own father within the three centuries I’ve been alive? You and your sisters have an abundance of self-estimation.”

“You’re not the first person to say that,” she says, flushing deeper before she snaps back to the present moment. “But your own feelings on Beron are well known. Why not acknowledge your parentage?”

“My mother’s life is already as close to a hell as the High Lord of Autumn can make it. He knows all the places where a bruise can be hidden by a gown or a piece of jewelry, to say nothing of magic.”

“You could not rescue her?”

“The Autumn Court has rites and laws against such things. To bring my mother to the Day Court would be a declaration of war against Beron. My mother would have to leave of her own will.”

“Which is why you worry about ornamental females,” she says, her gaze not as soft as he imagined. But she steps toward him and rests her hand on his shoulder, then draws her to him in a hug. She smells of flowers, the crisp first bite of an apple, and dew at dawn, and in his arms she feels the way he always imagined a sister might, steady and kind, someone to whom he could always return.

Now that the truth has been revealed, he’s grateful to have found a friend in Elain Archeron.

But then, because no joy in Lucien’s life ever seems to stay complete for very long, she steps back and says:

“I wish you would take me with you.”

“Is it so unbearable to be around Azriel?”

The air in the room changes its texture, and Lucien knows he’s said the wrong thing, broken the moment, but Elain’s lips twist into a half-smile. “This court does not seem to share your feelings on the value of ornamental females.”

“You only need to look as far as your sisters to know that’s not true.” It seems that Lucien can no longer abide wallowing, no matter the moment they’ve just shared, or the fact that all Elain needs to do is scream and endanger them both. Vassa would kill him if he allowed her protégé to slide back into her old habits. “You could have tried to learn about your powers sooner if you’d wanted. Feyre would have ensured you had everything you wanted.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” she says, her voice already too correct, too distant, “but why is it that being at the Spring Court felt like waking after a long sleep?”

“It could be the mating bond,” he tells her, and she stiffens, and Lucien is reminded again, the extent that she must be wrestling with this new development. He meets her eyes and softens his tone. “But it could also be that we find homes in unexpected places, sometimes.”

“Do you think that if we rescue Vaasa, we can return there?”

He wants to say yes, because already he is imagining that arrangement, living with Vassa in the daytime and sleeping beside her in the mild flower-scented nights, his lips at her neck and his arm around her waist,, worn out from helping Tamlin to build his court, developing a repertoire of jokes and taunts with Elain that will cause her to laugh and seethe in equal measure. But as much as Lucien would like to offer her these pleasant visions, and despite his years of practice, he finds that he can no longer bring himself to lie to Elain.

“If Vaasa is freed from her enchantment, she will go straight to Scythia.”

“And you — will you go with her?”

“She says that she will have to marry a human man.”

“You’re the heir to the Day Court, a powerful High Fae. Surely she and her people could not reject you so easily.”

“How did you feel about faeries when you were a human?” He does not say that inheritance and power are rarely uncomplicated in Prythian, even with a parentage as complicated as his own.

“I didn’t know anything true.”

“We are just as vicious as the tales you grew up learning. Feyre was always quick to point this out to me. But even so, I will not let her rot with Koschei.”

She reaches forward and squeezes his hand. Elain has never voluntarily touched him so many times in their acquaintance.

“Rhysand has wards around this residence,” she says, glancing at the timepiece that ticks noisily across the room, “be careful not to trip them.”

“The person who crafted this spell also taught Rhysand to build these wards.” He summons enough resolve to wink at her, a flash of his old self. “But if he’s made any updates to the wards, tell him I went to the Spring Court.”

Elain only nods, her face going serene while her eyes brighten, the only signal that she’s thinking through this latest piece of information. All at once, the similarity between them strikes Lucien: they see too much.

But tonight he does not want to know what forced Elain to learn those tricks of observation that have kept him alive, and so instead, with a little nod to her, he pulls on the magic that will bring him to the Day Court, and vanishes.

&

&

&

Lucien is never sure how Helion manages to be awake and present as soon as he appears, but the High Lord enters his personal library only moments after Lucien appears.

“I’ve been working on the spell,” Lucien says, by way of hello, falling into the nearest chair and summoning paper and pen with a flick of his wrist. In the Day Court, these are always close at hand.

Helion is quiet while Lucien maps out the architecture of the spell, his gaze a not-unpleasant weight.

“I was hoping I’d see you soon,” Helion says when Lucien pauses in his sketching. His voice is so unlike the arrogant mask he wears in formal assembly, the flirtatious tone he uses among friends. It’s the kind of voice Lucien, as a boy, would have imagined a father would use when speaking to his children, but once he learned who Helion was, the history at play, reality became too complicated for ease or warmth between them. This male left him to rot in the Autumn Court, didn’t acknowledge him for nearly a century. It’s hard to convince himself that a fatherly mien from Helion is anything more than a convincing mask.

“I’m playing emissary to two courts at once.” He does not look up from his notations, the geometry of Vassa’s bindings, the places on her body where she felt Koschei’s hold, where he’d seen the threads of the spell illuminate in darkened rooms, his golden eye whirring and eager.

“Tamlin needs all the assistance you can give. If he does not defend his borders, it’s only a matter of time before Beron takes advantage of the situation. Imagine the Autumn Court bordering the human lands.”

“There would be no human lands, soon enough,” Lucien says, unable to resist the comment, although he knows he cannot reveal too much.

“You know, I thought that Eris would have killed him by now.”

Lucien merely grunts, unwilling to say that Eris is just a bit more noble than everybody thinks, in part because he knows Helion will think him sentimental, and also because Eris will likely prove him wrong within the day. He concentrates on noting the elements which he thinks have shaped Koschei’s spell, their relations and connections, the components he cannot yet distinguish.

When he slides the paper over to Helion, filled with his writing and sketches, the room seems to still as the High Lord leans in to study the spell. The only sound is the sigh of his braids sliding to his shoulder, the beads at their ends sounding with little clinks.

Finally, Helion regards him with a little smile, his teeth flashing white against the deep plum of his lips.

“You’re making progress. I don’t think I could have done better. But if this were the magic that binds Vassa, I would have been able to break the spell already. There is some unfamiliar element that is missing.”

“There are stories that say Koschei is not of this world.” As he speaks, he tries to still his face, so that it does not betray the way his mind whirls. Relation or not, a High Lord’s thirst for power is legendary.

“If we could discover the workings of magic in the place of his origins… I will search my libraries.”

“Would it be better if we could discover the world where Koschei lived before he entered this one?”

“Of course. It would be invaluable to experience the workings of magic in that place.” Helion pauses, scanning Lucien. “You also know that there is no way to visit that realm. Unless you’ve found some unknown spell.”

“Something happened in the Spring Court,” he says, hoping it’s enough of a misdirect, leading to Tamlin or Vassa or the land itself. Rhysand will kill him if Helion shows up on his doorstep in search of Elain, or seeks to claim the bone.

But Helion quirks an eyebrow, a gesture that’s familiar enough to Lucien that he feels the expression forming on his own face.

“The last Archeron sister found her powers awakened?”

He could dither but there is no point. Not when he’s seeking a favor, a High Lord’s concentration and risk in order to rescue Vassa, who to the rest of Prythian may only be a human queen. He does not bother with the common story, that Elain has the gift of a seer. This gift would be of little assistance in their current circumstances, unless she saw the death of Koschei in vivid detail.

“She vanishes without the magic for invisibility,” he tells Helion. “And she spoke of passageways, doors between worlds. But she hasn’t learned to control her powers.”

“They’ve offered to train her at the Night Court.” Helion does not phrase this as a question, nor does he try to mask the disdain in his voice. Given his libraries and his skill with magic, he always feels that he should be consulted, court politics notwithstanding.

“You can imagine what it would mean if she could control her powers.”

“You know I will keep this secret,” Helion says, his voice solemn and his eyes intent on Lucien’s. “But I would also like to meet with the girl, if she’s willing. It would mean going against Rhysand, for one thing.”

Lucien doesn’t know how much of his ability to see spells and enchantments is inherited from this male, but he hazards a guess based on the rumors he’s overheard.

“What,” he drawls, “because Elain prefers to avoid her mate whenever possible?”

Based on the look Helion gives him, eyebrows stretching for his hairline, Lucien can tell that Helion knows this is a lie. But there’s only so much he’s willing to reveal.

“She came to care about Vassa in the Spring Court,” he says instead, careful to keep his voice even, to wear no comprehension or revelation on his features, “and I think she finally wants to learn to use her powers. I think she’ll be willing.”

Helion’s smile looks simple, an easy acceptance, but Lucien doesn’t trust it. Still, he lingers for another hour as they parse the spell, debating its workings between them, the missing elements and how they could be unraveled, and by the time he returns to the Night Court, he falls into a sleep that’s haunted by no sorcerers, no monsters, no court intrigue, where he forgets, for a few hours of oblivion, that Vassa isn’t there beside him.

[hellas-himself]

Where There Are Shadows pt.6

I feel like crap so y‘all can have this early. 

Our Fave High Lady’s POV

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.

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-Feyre-

“What’s wrong?” Mor asked after finishing her second plate of food. She reached over and put her hand over mine.

“It’s nothing,” I said. Rhys had told me through our bond that Lucien was home. My home. But he had asked me to wait, to let Lucien calm down. I would have protested, but he was right… I needed time to calm my own nerves, too.

Mor tugged on my hand.

“No one’s going to hear us,” she said with a wink. “Now spill.”

I sighed, turning my hand up to hold hers. Morrigan was the first female friend I’d ever had. If there was anyone I could confide in about this, it was her.

“I’ve probably failed at hiding how much I miss Lucien.”

Mor smiled sympathetically. “I have to agree.”

I let out a laugh. “Well, shit. Thank you.”

“Honesty is my power,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“So, Rhys-”

Mor straightened, “What did my cousin do?”

I squeezed her hand, slightly pulling on her arm.

“Rhys went to go talk to him. Last night.”

Curious, Mor leaned over to me. No one paid us any mind. To anyone else in the little café, we were two friends sharing a bit of gossip, which we were, except the gossip was about me and Lucien.

“I guess he thought that if Lucien heard how much I missed him from my mate, that he would stay a little longer so we could actually spend time together.”

“Did it work?”

I felt my face getting hot as I nodded. “The thing is… They both got drunk and Lucien… Well, no, Rhys realized that Lucien is in love with me.”

Mor raised a brow and then her eyes widened. “But he’s mated to your sister.”

“I know,” I said through gritted teeth. I sighed. “But that’s why he doesn’t stay. Wouldn’t it hurt to see the one you love with someone else?”

Mor winced, she and Azriel still hadn’t talked out their situation. I quickly apologized.

“It’s alright, Feyre… We’ll get there. Eventually.”

“So I went to visit him this morning, and he wasn’t there.”

She sighed and leaned back, still holding my hand. She rubbed her thumb across my palm absentmindedly. “How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know… And what’s weird is that Rhys is so… He’s fine with this.”

“Feyre, my cousin would do anything if it meant you being happy.”

My face felt even hotter. “I mean, he’s always joking about it. Not about Lucien, but I mean, someone else. Joining us.” I tried to cover my face with my other hand.

Mor was quiet and through my fingers I saw her trying not to laugh. And of course, she couldn’t help it.

“Feyre, you’re adorable,” she managed to say as she continued to practically cackle at my expense.

“Mor!”

She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“I know, I know.” She cleared her throat again. “Exploring ones… desires isn’t a bad thing. We’ve all done it. And maybe Rhys thinks that you should have that chance too. Or maybe…”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe it’s my cousin that wants to do the exploring.”

After insisting on paying our bill, Mor and I walked home together. We talked about going to Rita’s soon, about finding a new outfit for it. But I stopped walking as I felt Rhys reaching out to me through our bond.

He’s going home.

I gave Mor the biggest hug and kiss on her cheek. “Thanks for brunch. I’ve got to run.”

“Run where?” she yelled as I ran in the opposite direction of home.

“I’ll explain later!” I shouted back.

I ran until I was at his apartment, until I practically screamed his name. The look on his face when he saw me was heartbreaking. I nearly crashed into him, crushing him in an embrace. I was afraid of letting go, afraid that he would leave if I did.

“I thought you were gone,” I said against his chest, my voice breaking. But I didn’t care.

I heard him let out a shaken breath, and then his arms were around me.

“For someone who can catch a Suriel, you certainly have terrible skills at finding your friends.”

I managed to laugh and I realized I was crying. I looked up at him, at that handsome face. He was warm, from the rich color of his skin, the gold and russet of his eyes. He stilled as I dared to reach out to brush his hair away from his face, to see those scars. Brutal. Beautiful. Like he was.

I gave him a smile, feeling completely stupid. “But I’m here now.”

He was going to speak, but he only nodded, and pulled me in for another hug. He kissed the top of my head. “Feyre, there’s something I need to tell you.”

I pulled away from him and nodded. “So do I.”

“Should we go inside?”

“That would probably be a good idea.”

His apartment was as bare as expected for someone who had no plans on staying. I understood it, but it still hurt. I wanted him here. In Velaris.

The fireplace roared to life when we walked to the sofa. I took off my jacket as he sat down on one end, I on the other, setting my jacket down in the space between us.

We adjusted ourselves so that we faced each other. How many times had we sat down together? I started playing with the hem of my shirt, feeling unsure of how to even start. Maybe it was because of the fire or maybe it was Lucien, but what I had inherited from Beron was wanting to come to the surface. When my fingertips singed my shirt, I cursed and Lucien closed the space between us to look at my hands. He took them in his, saying nothing.

“This happens sometimes,” I said as best I could without sound as nervous as I felt. “But not as much as before.”

He nodded. He knew what I meant, back when Tamlin refused to allow me to learn the gifts I had received. Even his own.

Lucien let go of my hands, but didn’t move away from me. We’d been close before, closer than this. It wasn’t unusual. Even if my motives had not been wholly innocent then. We managed to look at one another, waiting for the other to speak.

“Lucien, I’m sorry,” I said at last. “I didn’t treat you how I should have when you came by for Solstice.”

“I didn’t either.”

“I was an asshole. I deserve how you reacted. I should have been happy that you’ve found friends, that you feel at home with them. I didn’t give you the respect you gave me when I found my place.”

“Feyre…”

“I was just jealous.” He raised a brow. “I wanted you to be at home here. In Velaris, with me. With my family. I wanted you to stay here and fall in love with this city the way that I did. I wanted you with me, not because anyone was forcing us to be around each other the way he did. But because you wanted to. And it wasn’t fair of me to just assume that you would. Especially not after I used you, back in Spring. To hurt Tamlin. I shouldn’t have, but you were, you are safe. I’m safe with you.”

I felt out of breath. And I was crying. We said nothing for a while, even when I wiped my tears with the back of my hand. We just looked at one another. Do I need to moderate? I heard the smile in my mate’s voice. During the onslaught of emotions I felt, I must have forgotten to check my mental shields. Prick. Now you can wait till I get home. He was laughing as I shut him out.  

“Feyre,” Lucien began quietly, “Velaris is beautiful. But it’s not mine.”

“It could be.”

He smirked. “You’ve always been a pain in the ass. You know that, right? Since the very first day Tam brought you to court.”

I nodded, smiling at him even though I didn’t stop crying.

“You reminded me of wildfire. And I can admit, you grew on me.”

“I know.”

He dared to caress my cheek before he wiped my tears with his thumb. “Your mate’s arrogance has rubbed off on you.”

I laughed, placing my hand over his. “Please. Don’t act like you’re not an arrogant prick either.”

He truly smiled then.

And as if waking up from a dream, he pried his hand from mine.  

“I knew from the moment we returned from Hybern that something was off. But Tamlin had fucked up. And I was angry at myself for not standing up for you. So when you came to me, even if it was just an act, I obliged. I thought maybe that would make up for it. But then… I realized that I wanted to be the one you ran to.” That admission made my heart race.

“It wasn’t always an act,” I whispered.

He looked heart broken.  “You’re making this harder for me.”

I took his hand in mine, needing him to understand. “I did have nightmares. I hated being alone… You were all I had.”

He seemed to tense, but he didn’t let go of my hand.

“Staying in Velaris is hard for me, Feyre. At first, it was because of Elain. But I can’t leave this gods damned apartment without something reminding me of you.”

“Oh.”

“It is wrong for me to feel this way. To desire anyone but my mate, even if she hates me-”

“Elain doesn’t hate you.”

The look on his face would have made me laugh any other time. Incredulous. Irritated. The face he always made when I got under his skin. But then I realized what he was saying.

“You don’t want Elain,” I stated.

He shook his head. There was that fire again, inside of me, rising to the challenge. Something told me Lucien’s flame was ready to play, too. I looked at our hands, mine completely covered in tattoos, and his with small, silver scars. I could almost imagine the tattoos on his skin, if his hair was as dark as his father’s, he could pass as Illyrian.

I looked up at him, needing to hear him say it to me. Not to Rhys. Not to anyone else.

“Lucien-”

“Feyre, I love you.”

[wingsofanillyrian]

The Dance: Chapter 3

Summary:  Everyone knows the High Lord of the Night Court is a monster. Not that Rhysand has ever cared what the other Fae of Prythian think, but when he meets Feyre, Tamlin’s betrothed, he realizes everything is about to change.

Chapter Masterlist

“Well well, what have we here?” Tamlin cocked his head to the side, a predatory grin on his face as he circled me. “High Lord of Night’s come to play, eh?” He threw his head back and laughed, the sound sharp enough to set my ears ringing.

“Let him go!” Feyre shouted, shoving against his chest. Tamlin was taken aback, seemingly noticing her for the first time. He blinked once before his lips curled back from his teeth.

“I told you to stay with Lucien. I finally let you out on your own and this-“ he pointed to me, the tip of Lucien’s dagger piercing my skin- “Is how you repay me?”

“We were only talking, Tamlin!” Her hands balled into fists at her sides. I actually thought she might take a swing at him, judging by the rage that coated her features.

“I don’t give a shit if you were just talking,” he snarled, claws ripping from his fingertips. “I gave you one rule. Stay with Lucien.” Feyre was physically trembling as he towered over her. “But you couldn’t even listen to that!”

A tiny whimper passed Feyre’s lips and she instinctively braced herself for more verbal blows. Tamlin’s face softened, realizing what he said was scaring her. He rubbed at his temples, as if he was dealing with an unruly child.

“I’m sorry, Feyre.” He laid a hand on her shoulder, and she flinched. Flinching meant that she had anticipated a blow. Anticipating a blow meant that he’d laid hands on her before.

That realization snapped the last of the fragile control I held over my power. Lucien yelped, leaping back as the dark tendrils of shadowy night snaked from my fingers and pooling around Tamlin’s feet.

“Get away from her,” I growled, slamming Lucien against the wall with a flick of my wrist. Wisely, he stayed there without complaint. Stalking towards Tamlin, I saw the flash of fear in his eyes that he tried so hard to hide.

“She’s mine,” He growled back, wrapping his hand around her arm. Again, Feyre looked at me with pleading eyes and white-hot rage pulsed through my veins.

“You don’t own her,” I countered, stopping within inches of his face. My tall stature allowed me to tower over him, turning the tables and unsteadying him.

Good.

“She isn’t some possession that you get to squabble over,” I continued, letting those inky ropes flow of their own accord. One glance at Feyre told me that she was enraptured by the magic rather than terrified. Her blue eyes were fixed on the pool flowing at Tamlin’s feet, deep purple and blue specked with sparkling light- just like the sky.

“You don’t know, do you?” Tamlin sneered at me, possessing the audacity to laugh.

I drug my attention back to the manipulative male. “Know what?”

“That Feyre here-“ He clasped his hands behind his back and took a step to the side, the shadows parting to allow him past- “Is my betrothed.”

The world tipped from under me. I was vaguely aware of Feyre shouting something, either at me or at her lover, but all I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears. That’s why he was being so possessive over her. Because he could.

The laws governing the Spring Court were vastly different from those of my court. Here, when two Fae were engaged to be wed, whomever held the higher social standing could force the other into submission. ‘Within reason,’ the law stated. But who would ever dare challenge the High Lord?

A grin broke across Tamlin’s face as I put the pieces together.

“That’s right, Rhysand. She’s all mine, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” He laughed again, and there was nothing sane or stable about the sound. Something had been broken within him many years ago. This was not the male that I had once befriended.

He was a monster.

“But there is,” I murmured, snapping out of my daze to meet Feyre’s eyes. “The laws of Prythian allow a mate to object to a marriage between their mate and another.”

There it was, laid out on the table. The big secret that I’d tried to protect in order to keep her from harm.

Tamlin’s head whipped back to Feyre, who was staring at me wide eyed and shocked. “Did you know?” He demanded of her, reaching as if to seize her arm once more. All it took was a snap of my fingers to freeze the limb midair.

“You don’t touch her.”

“This is an act of war-“

“It is no such thing. I haven’t harmed you.”

Tamlin growled, the sound ripping from his throat. I had him cornered, and he damn well knew it. Lucien sniffed the air, scenting for the mating bond.

“They haven’t accepted the bond, my lord.”

“I know,” he snapped, shooting daggers at the flame haired male. “I’d have scented it when we fucked last night.” Another pointed jab, but it didn’t hit home. I let it roll right off me, much to his dismay. Tamlin’s face contorted into further rage as he grew more desperate.

“And they never will accept it. She is my fiancé. You can’t have her!”

I tuned out his words, my attention fixed wholly on Feyre. Her breathing was heavy as she shook her head in disbelief. I felt a second, duller snap in my chest, and I knew instantly that the bond had finally locked into place for her, too.

“Feyre,” I breathed, daring a step forward and holding out my hand towards her. “My offer still stands-“

“Don’t fucking touch her!”

She shook her head, caught between the monster that was her betrothed and whatever unknown threat I might pose.

“Feyre please, I won’t hurt you, I won’t cage you, I swear!” I’d reached the point of begging. I didn’t care. Tamlin snarled and gnashed his beastly teeth at me from a few paces away, where my magic kept his feet pinned to the floor.

“I can trust you, right?” She breathed, blue eyes searching my violet. There was a vulnerable look in them, raw and unsure. Gods, so much hurt was held in such a tiny frame, broken and battered and bruised.

“You can trust me.”

Tentatively her hand found mine. I released Tamlin as I winnowed, his deafening roar of rage following us through the endless black.

***************

Feyre sputtered and fell to her knees when we landed at the House of Wind. I knelt beside her, offering her my jacket once more. She accepted it gratefully, leaning her head back against the stone wall of the balcony.

“Are you alright?” I asked cautiously, scanning her for any sign of injury.

“I think,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. “I can’t wrap my head around what happened. Tamlin’s never done that before.”

Her voice was small and laced with the pain of betrayal. Pain was something I had become very intimate with over my lifetime, and I could recognize when it held someone in it’s sharp claws. Feyre curled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her knees and effectively shutting out the night’s events.

“It’s a lot to take in.” She pulled the lapels of my jacket tighter around her to ward out the chill.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, rocking back on my heels. “That’s not how I wanted you to find out, but I didn’t see any other way-“

“I know.”

A cold wind whipped in from the steppes, and I shivered. Feyre did too, though I could tell she had no intention of moving anytime soon. Her face was blank but tears rolled liberally down her hollow cheeks.

Her eyes held no fire.

“Thank you for saving me,” she rasped, finally looking up to me.

As carefully as I could manage, I slipped my arm under her shaking knees. Wrapping the other around her torso, I murmured, “It’s alright, Feyre. I won’t let him hurt you.” That broke whatever dam she had carefully constructed within her heart, and her emotions poured out of her in waves.

Her fingers clung to my shirt as she sobbed, and I carried her through the House of Wind to one of the many chambers within. I chose the one with the most windows and the most exists, lest she feel like a caged bird and need to fly away.

Another feeling I knew well.

Setting her gently on the bed, I made to take my leave. It had been a long day, and I figured she would want some time to sort out everything that had happened.

“Stay,” she whispered, catching my wrist as I turned away. “Please.”

I nodded, her grip remaining firm as I summoned a chair. “I’ll watch over you,” I promised, her hold relaxing enough for me to take her hand.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her eyes already sliding shut as sleep claimed her. She was out within moments, but I remained by her side.

“Anything for you, Feyre darling.”

Tagging: @spegetty @viajandosinalas @personpersonper @thisisnotmynamefml @photofeesh@4clovermania @highladyofluna @darlingfireheart @highladyofidris @bluephoenix222 @krm00623 @jordangg13 @highlady-of-slytherin

[theladyofbloodshed]

A Court of Tangled Flames - Chapter Ten

There had never been an argument like it in all of their years together. Amren and Mor had once come to blows, but the males knew to let them have at it. There had never been a rift like this before. 

The moment they arrived back into Velaris after their disastrous meeting in the Autumn Court, the argument had started up. Azriel wasted no time in demanding Rhys tell them exactly what had happened during those fifty years Under the Mountain. Eris had referenced them then Beron. It did not serve them to have secrets - especially if they were known to the Autumn Court. 

Rhys had refused, saying it was nothing to do with any of them and he’d done what he had to do. Mor was on his side, arguing back against Azriel.

The noise drew Feyre, Elain, Lucien and Amren from the house so they all ended up yelling on the lawn. Rhys tried to put a stop for it, citing Feyre’s pregnancy as a reason to call for calm. 

Cassian didn’t give a shit about the things Rhys had done. He’d done what he had to do for them. For all of them. There were more pressing matters.

‘Nesta. Rhys, tell me you got through to her.’

The light guttered out of Rhys’ violet eyes. ‘I couldn’t get through her mental shields.’

‘She can’t cast them,’ Feyre said with bewilderment.

‘Beron might have taught her. She might be training her magic with him to get back against us.’ Mor worried her lower lip. 

‘Nesta has denied she has magic, much less shown an inclination to train it. I doubt even Eris would make her magic known to my father.’ Lucien shrugged off his jacket in the crisp night. Unconsciously, he aimed to drape it around Elain’s shoulders. It was the act of a good male who didn’t want to see his mate cold, but she shifted away, preferring to clutch her arms across her body for warmth. The hurt on his face was there for everybody to see.

‘I couldn’t break through them,’ Rhys stated. ‘Nesta isn’t casting them. Her magic wouldn’t be powerful enough this early even if she was training. There’s a daemati in their court.’

‘Why would Nesta even be training?’

Eyes fell to Cassian to brace him again for the news. Nothing would ever prepare him for that gut-wrenching feeling of knowing Nesta had been entwined with another male – but knowing it was Eris Vanserra was a special kind of poison.

‘Nesta has married Eris.’

‘She’s done what?’ Amren seethed. ‘Stupid girl. Her head will be spiked at our gates in the morning.’

‘Rhys.’ Azriel stood with shadows ready to strike. His voice was hard and unyielding. The icy rage that he struggled to manage was cracking the surface. ‘Under the Mountain. What happened?’ 

‘Az,’ Mor snapped.

The agitation seeped from Azriel. The shadows that swarmed him flickered like an animal’s tail indicating his distress. ‘What did you do to Feyre Under the Mountain?’

‘That is none of your business.’ Feyre’s hand cradled her rounded body.

Az stared at her incredulously, hazel eyes shooting between her and Rhys. ‘It affects the stability of our court. We’re at a disadvantage if you keep secrets from us – ones Beron knows and will use against us.’

‘She is your high lady. You will respect her decision.’

‘Did you respect her Under the Mountain?’

A white-hot silence sliced down on them. Whether Az cared or not, he had pushed too far. They all felt the sudden tautness in the air as Rhys’ magic crackled around them.

‘Leave. I don’t care where you go. Leave.’

While Cassian stared at the spot where Azriel had been before he winnowed away, Rhys shepherded his pregnant mate inside of the house. A muffled cry came as Feyre pressed the back of her hand over her mouth. It did not take long for her sister to follow with a bowed head.

‘Whatever happened doesn’t matter. Rhys did what he had to for all our sakes.’

Mor’s words were directed at Lucien who seemed affronted, especially as he’d said nothing. The male remained with his feet planted, jacket slung over his folded arms while Mor and Amren returned to the house.

All of them had returned to the house without a further glance. Not one had stayed to form a plan to bring Nesta back. Eris could have been doing unspeakable things to her. Beron too. They had all filtered back into the warmth and safety of the house as if Nesta was lost to the wind, forgotten the moment she was out of sight.

Lucien coughed lightly. ‘I still have a number of contacts in the Autumn Court. I’ll see what can be done. We must tread with caution. Bringing her back will not be easy.’

‘They were married before the eyes of the Mother.’

The male blanched at that.

‘There’s no hope, is there?’

Cassian almost didn’t want the answer. Nesta had entered a binding deal with Eris. To bring her back home would be seen as stealing a bride of the Autumn Court, punishable by death. In his heart of hearts, Cassian knew Nesta was his mate. If the bond snapped then he could challenge Eris to a Blood Duel. How would it snap so far apart?

When Lucien blew out a breath, it curled over itself in a plume of frosty white. ‘The only kindness I can offer is that if anybody was to survive Beron and Eris, it would be Nesta.’

The male clapped him on the shoulder as he too returned to the vast estate, leaving Cassian alone with only the roar of his thoughts and the gargle of the Sidra. Not one of his family members had stayed with him to figure out a plan to ensure Nesta was safe. Only Lucien tried to offer a small consolation although the male owed him nothing.

Why wasn’t Nesta the priority? The thought was like a pebble sinking to the bottom of a lake. Because Nesta had never been the fucking priority. Not for Feyre or Rhys. Not even for him. Nesta had always been an object to be used when it suited them and locked away when she grew too spiky for them to manage.

***

A glitter of frost dusted the roofs of Windhaven. Fires were still lit amongst the camp though few were out on such a bitter evening. Most were in their homes with braziers offering their heat. Wind crept through the mountains, bringing a chill with it. Those without homes, without even tents, stayed huddled together beside firepits, adding the scant wood they’d found to it.

Azriel could not lend a care to the struggles of his people. Not tonight. He wouldn’t have come here if he had any other choice. Rage laced every inhale. If he crossed a male who looked at him wrong tonight, his fingers wouldn’t hesitate to wrap around Truth Teller’s hilt.

No, Azriel had a reason for being in Windhaven. He had to focus. Whilst the others might have simpered on the lawn, somebody had to come to this desolate place.

He found a spot opposite the small clothing shop and waited. Shadows buzzed about him, as on edge as he was. Every minute that ticked by left Azriel more distressed.

Finally, from nowhere, three figures winnowed into the narrow street. It was tempting to ram a knife straight through Eris Vanserra’s back – but it left Nesta alone in the wolf’s den. Still, his fingers curled around the hilt, ready if Eris did anything to the two females.

Remarkably, he did not.

‘I’m sorry this was not the trip we envisioned.’

Emerie blew out a breath. ‘You can say that again.’

‘Nesta was so glad to see both of you. I hope we can arrange a way for it to happen again.’

‘You will look after her?’ Gwyn asked, fingers tugging down her hood to reveal her coppery hair that shone under the pale moon. She was so out of place in Illyria.

‘Always,’ Eris replied. ‘I pray her happiness blooms even in the autumn. That is all I want for her.’

Emerie unlocked the door. Neither female seemed in a hurry to escape Eris. Azriel could not fathom it. Perhaps it meant that he had been honest and had not harmed either of them. He could not bear it if Emerie or Gwyn suffered more.

‘Someone will come soon to take you back to the library?’

The priestess nodded to Eris though Azriel still struggled to follow the gentle tone of Eris’ voice. The concern seemed genuine.  

‘Good. Thank you for being brave enough to visit Nesta. Both of you. You cannot imagine how much it meant to her.’ The male sucked in a breath. ‘I must return. Remember, if anything-’

‘Niamh. Yes. Go,’ Emerie urged, sweeping Gwyn under her arm and into the shop.

The jagged fury that Azriel had carried seemed to slip through his fingers as he stared at the shop in disbelief. A light came on in the upper floor. Eris waited until he saw that before he winnowed too as of duty-bound to ensure the females were safe. Azriel was unable to process the conversation. There had been no sneering or cruel remarks. Eris had been downright polite and caring. He’d even given an encouraging smile to Gwyn. He spoke of Nesta with nothing but reverence in a gentle tone.

It had to be an act. Lure two more females to the Autumn Court. They’d be used as pawns in his games. Azriel had known Eris for five hundred years. He was the bastard that left Mor bleeding in the woods. A male so vile she ruined her reputation than marry him.

Unable to help himself, Azriel’s scarred knuckles rapped against the door. It took a little persuasion for Emerie to allow him in. As soon as he was inside, Azriel scanned the faces of both females, hunting for a mark that he could use against Eris, some evidence that harm had come to them in the Autumn Court. Eris Vanserra would not risk coming to Illyria to bring two females to his court out of the goodness of his heart. He was not benevolent. It had to be a ploy – perhaps a way of manipulating Nesta as well as the Night Court.

‘Did he hurt you?’

Neither female had any sort of injury or trauma. He pressed gently, asking what had happened in order to figure out the mess they were in. It appeared that Eris had contacted Emerie at Nesta’s request, arranged for both females to visit her then returned them home.

‘And what did he do to you when you were there?’

Gwyn blinked her teal eyes rapidly. ‘Nothing. We ate dinner and he stayed downstairs.’

‘Him and Nesta made us breakfast the next day.’

‘Did he ask for information about the court? About Velaris?’

Emerie’s cheeks pinked. ‘I really don’t think Eris cares about anyone or anything when Nesta’s around – except for her.’

‘But he brought you to us to blackmail us.’

The Illyrian’s posture stiffened. ‘Because he was trying to save your lives. The high lord would have slaughtered you if you stepped out of line. We were never in any danger.’

Gwyn pulled out a stool from beneath the counter for Azriel to sit down on. He needed it. He felt as if somebody had just told him that grass was purple and the sky was green.

Almost to himself, he murmured, ‘What is his endgame?’

The priestess fiddled with the end of her braid. In a voice as quiet as his own, she asked him, ‘Is it too difficult to imagine a male might care for Nesta simply for who she is? That she wanted to see her friends so he did that for her with no ulterior motive?’

‘Did he force her into marriage?’

The two females exchanged a look. He pressed them, desperate to know why they seemed defensive when before they had readily answered his questions.

‘Nesta married Eris so that she was not forced to come back here.’

 No. That wasn’t possible. Nesta wouldn’t choose Eris over Cassian. Not over all of them. They were her family. Emerie’s words rang in Azriel’s ears. Any noise from outside was swallowed up by them. Nesta chose a marriage to Eris rather than returning to Velaris.

‘I don’t understand.’

There was fire in Emerie’s gaze, a sudden bravado that made her body swell. ‘You evicted Nesta from her home. Demolished it so she could not go back to it. The first home she had ever chosen for herself. She was locked in a house force to train and work against her will.’

‘It was to help her.’

Emerie stared at him, disgust beginning to sour her features. Azriel hated to see it. She had always been amicable towards him, never anything but polite and genial. ‘Did you laugh at Nesta when she fell down the stairs like Cassian? What did you say when he told her that everybody hated her? What part of that was supposed to help Nesta?’

‘Emerie, stop.’ The priestess had shifted away, fingers pressing on the door frame ready to scurry to the safety of upstairs.

‘No. It needs to be said.’ The female took a steadying breath, her brows releasing from their furrowed expression. ‘The high lord threatened to kill her then Cassian-’

‘-Took her out of the city for a few days,’ Azriel finished.

‘No. He forced her on a hike through the foothills of the mountains. He made her carry everything. Didn’t care if she starved herself. She collapsed, Azriel. And Cassian still forced her to walk for miles. Eris saw it and couldn’t bear it. He saved her from Cassian’s brutality.’

Azriel could offer no explanation for his brother’s behaviour. If Rhys had threatened the female that Azriel loved, he’d have stood his ground and fought him, not fled. Was it naïve to have thought that Cassian might have just brought Nesta to Illyria for a few days of calm while the storm blew over? Azriel imagined them setting up a camp together in the wilderness because if offered peace and sanctuary. Nesta had been driven away. Eris hadn’t needed to change himself; compared to them, Eris had been her saviour.

‘It can’t be true.’

‘The high lady is going to die – and her sister was made to keep it a secret. The high lord of this court threatened to kill her. Why would Nesta ever want to return to this place?’

***

‘You’re still alive then.’

‘Try not to sound too disappointed.’ Eris appraised her. Nesta had not heard him return in the night, but the male had been true to his word and remained outside of the bedroom. If he was tired from snoozing on the couch, he did not show it. If anything, Eris looked remarkably fresh. ‘I was worried you’d leapt from the window when you didn’t rise.’

Nesta blinked in confusion. As soon as she’d heard Eris’ movements, she had risen and dressed in the same gown as yesterday, having nothing else to wear. She’d hardly been more than ten minutes.

‘It is nearly noon.’

‘Surely not?’

‘I assure you, it is. You obviously needed the sleep.’

The expected night of thrashed sheets and worried thoughts never came. The moment that she had settled herself onto the pillow, she was snuffed out like a candle. Perhaps Eris was correct and exhaustion had seized her.

‘I’m usually an early riser. I’m not one to languish in bed,’ she said, somewhat defensively. Nesta had always kept herself busy – before all of this. It had become too difficult to keep her motivation overflowing to the next day. Her energy was lacklustre, her hope non-existent. Getting out of bed, most days, was an achievement.

She jumped at the touch of Eris’ fingers on her shoulders. He encouraged her forwards into the chair she had spent her evening in. The dust had settled around them after a frantic day. They were married. Eris was her husband. The tattoo on her finger seemed to throb in Eris’ presence, singing to his matching one.

‘I expect the shadow singer to seek me out soon to arrange another meeting. Before we discuss our plan of action, first, we need you to have breakfast – though I daresay lunch is more appropriate now.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Unfortunately, as your dearly beloved, it is my responsibility to ensure my spouse is well cared for.’ Eris poked his head from the room and demanded a luncheon be brought to them with haste. She hated to hear the sharpness in his tone and the sudden change in his character. Which one was the mask?

In a terse silence, the pair of them ate a simple lunch. When Eris did not try to engage Nesta in conversation, she focused on chewing each mouthful rather than letting thoughts of the last few months filter in. To her surprise, Eris perched a book on a knee as he ate. It was a novel, she realised, not reports or ledgers as he tended to lean towards with his never-ending list of duties. Nesta continued trying to read sentences of it to determine what sort of genre the high lord’s heir enjoyed. Her attempts at subtlety failed when Eris flicked his head up and said, ‘Should I read it to you or would you like it when I’m finished?’

‘I was merely curious what book was so interesting that you’d ignore me over lunch for.’

The book was closed gently. ‘You may initiate conversations too. For example, you could have said “Eris, my beloved husband, tell your doting wife what book rivets you so”.’

‘I’m certainly not your doting wife.’

Eris smirked. ‘But you don’t refute the beloved husband part?’

Now, Nesta remembered why Eris Vanserra was universally disliked. He had a way of irritating like a rash that refused to fade. 

‘It’s a mystery. A family disappears overnight and the neighbour is the only one in the village who recalls their existence.’

Nesta noticed the name embossed in gold print on the cover, recalled the author. ‘That’s a mortal book.’

‘It is,’ Eris acknowledged. ‘They make me think more. Magic cannot be the reason for the mystery. I find it helps me to plot and scheme.’ He handed the book to Nesta to read; it was worn from many readers passing it through many hands so the binding was beginning to fray. ‘The romance novels that you are so fond of, I find, rot the brain.’

‘You are assuming I have something to rot.’

Eris chuckled at that remark. ‘You are too clever by half, Nesta Archeron. I do not doubt that mind of yours is already plotting a way to have your husband on his knees at your command.’

Her mind went straight to the gutter. Her cheeks flushed. Eris capitalised on her sudden embarrassment, tipping his head back in rowdy laughter. ‘Do tell me what you are imagining.’

‘Nothing,’ she spat. ‘There is nothing in my imagination.’

The male gave her a disbelieving grin that only riled up her temper. Eris was not her type. She had never been fond of long hair on a male, he had an extraordinary ability to agitate whoever was in his proximity, and he was still staring at her with a damn grin on his face.

‘Stop that.’

‘Stop what?’

‘Smiling. It’s unnerving me.’

‘Can a male not smile at his lovely wife?’

Nesta gritted her teeth. ‘Not when it feels like I’m being sized up for dinner.’

There was nothing that Nesta could say to put Eris off his goading. It was different to the verbal spars she encountered with Cassian. When her anger came out, it was wrong. Her voice was not allowed to rise to match his. The privilege of rage was solely for the others. He could rage at her for not training, for expressing frustration with her situation – but Nesta was never allowed to do the same. Eris, on the other hand, relished her anger. He didn’t battle it with his own, didn’t find offense, merely changed the course of the river with teasing at his own expense.

‘This house is insufferable. Let us explore the outside.’

‘I will not be leaping into any more rivers at your insistence.’

‘There are always ponds or lakes.’

***

A rainfall in the night left the well-trodden path towards the stables sloppy with mud. 

‘Prepare my horse.’

A servant raced ahead at full pelt to beat them to the stables. Eris kept his pace leisurely, pausing occasionally to issue a command to a hound to give the stable hands more time to ready a mount lest they face a punishment. 

‘Oh no. I shall ruin my boots if I cross this.’ 

Nesta’s gaze went to his polished shoes then she snorted softly. ‘A pampered prince.’

‘I simply refuse to dirty a good pair of boots. Those poor servants will spend their evening scrubbing them until I can see my beautiful reflection once more.’

Nesta rested her hands upon her hips. The gap was too large to jump. He wanted to see what she’d do - propose a way round or wait for the servant to bring a horse to them. 

‘Should I carry you like a mule?’

Nesta clicked her tongue in challenge then squatted slightly, gesturing to her back. 

The amusement in her eyes suggested it was a test on her part too. Would he dare climb on her? Far be it for Eris to fail a test. 

‘I knew I made the right decision in marrying you,’ he said, placing his hands on her shoulders. For good measure, he gave them a squeeze. Next, Eris raised a knee over her hip then leaned his weight against Nesta. 

A small squeak of alarm escaped her lips as his weight bore down on her. He felt her legs beginning to tremble as he raised more weight onto her back. Her hand gripped his thigh, the touch searing through him. She readied her other hand for his leg, still desperate to prove she could carry him across the muddy swamp of a path. Her stubbornness could be her downfall.

He stood back on two feet, arms wrapping around her front across the shoulders. 

‘I appreciate the commitment but I shall not see your boots ruined either,’ he murmured in her ear. He shouldn’t have engaged in the folly in case they were watched, but after all they were newlyweds in the throes of love. To any watching, the heir was being playful with his new wife after a night locked in the bedroom. ‘One, two, three.’

They winnowed across the gap, landing squarely in front of the stable doors. That was a better alternative to traipsing through mud. 

‘You cannot winnow?’

‘I’d have winnowed away from Illyria if I could. At least you were there to save me.’

His arms remained around her and Nesta hadn’t yet pulled away. If anything, she was leaning into his body, ensuring as much as it touched his as possible. It was nice to feel the warmth of another. 

‘I think you can learn. You have enough power. I will teach you - if you would like.’

Nesta’s chin rested on his forearm. A gloved hand came to stroke his sleeve.

‘I would like that.’ 

A stable hand brought out the horse and Nesta regarded him with curiosity. The male stood only as tall as a boy despite being grown; he was a lesser fae with thick, ruddy skin and two stump-like horns on his head. Though short in stature, their kind were strong enough to anchor a bolting horse - and they had an affinity for horses. She hadn’t seen this sort of lesser fae before, Eris realised. Hadn’t seen much beyond the prison they’d locked her in. 

‘I made an assumption that you cannot ride.’

‘You know me so well, my love.’

Eris swallowed his shock at the name. He brushed his cheek against her temple. ‘You can learn that too, if you wish. Today, we ride together.’

The female listened dutifully to his instructions on where to place her foot in the stirrup and how to lift herself into the saddle. She still needed support from him - a fact Eris was grateful for. When he slipped into the saddle behind her, Nesta eased back with a satisfied sigh when their bodies touched. Despite not being necessary, Eris wound a hand around her waist as they rode from the stables and out of the massive gates. Sentries watched them as they went. 

Once they reached the forest, a damp scent hit them. Last night’s rain had made the forest bloom. The horse pushed through the ferns that were beaded with raindrops. A blackbird pecking at a worm from the undergrowth flew away when it noticed them. 

‘I think we did a very good job.’

‘Pardon?’

Nesta turned to glance at him then she patted the hand on her waist. ‘We made a good show of being the doting husband and wife. There were sentries watching us from a balcony. I’m sure they’ll relay word to your father that after a night spent breeding me, we are still hopelessly in love.’

She’d shifted forwards slightly to put a little distance between them in the saddle. Her hands remained clasped on the pommel rather than touching him as they had been. Eris fought back against the unexpected wave of disappointment, the sudden chill without her warmth. They were married out of convenience. There was nothing else to it. She had loved Cassian until a week ago. He ought to be glad to have someone willing to engage in his games against his father, a female who had initiative.

‘Just pretending,’ said Eris, clarifying it even if he did not want to hear it. 

‘Just pretending.’

On they went, the horse weaving through paths that only Eris knew through the forest until he winnowed all three of them to a village close to the border with the Summer Court.

‘There are pockets within my court where it is safe for you to be. These are places where I can remove the mask and be the heir I long to be.’ Eris continued on through the winding trail, as Nesta’s body knocked against his. He ought to feel embarrassed by how much he valued her touch. How he craved to feel her shoulders knock against his chest. ‘They have been cultivated over many years and are warded heavily. We will visit one. However, many places here will not take kindly to any associated with the Vanserra family. Further than that, we must decide whether you are to wear a mask.’

‘I should like to be myself. I’m told enough how vicious and horrible I am.’

‘Words said by fools who would rather tread on you than let you shine.’ Eris peered around to bask in Nesta’s beauty. She’d dressed in boots for the ride, a long cloak, gloves, and a woollen dress of umber. He hardly recognised her save for the coronet style that she was so fond of having her hair pinned up in.

‘If you’d like to be you then that’s who you shall be. I don’t need to be anybody other than just Eris here.’

For Nesta, there was nothing to be seen, only an expanse of fields ripe with crops. For Eris, a vivacious village sprawled out. It was less a village and more a town nowadays.

‘Soon, you will be in the village of Altor Hay. Are you ready to meet your people, Mrs Vanserra?’

Taglist: @owllover123 @rarephloxes @fanboy7794 @sugardoll22 @kitkat-writes-stuff @this-is-rochelle @sv0430

[runesandfaes]

Starlight and Snowflakes

Content: An Elriel fan-fiction. Some fluff, quite a lot of smut...I think. Rating: Explicit/NSFW Words: 3,382

Link on Ao3 Disclaimer: MIGHT CONTAIN SOME ACOWAR SPOILERS. This is my first ever fan-fiction guys. Please go easy on me if this sucks, if the smut’s not good enough and if I don’t resonate with the characters’ voices well. I tried :’x If you enjoyed it, likes and reblogs would be appreciated <3 Also thank you @throne-of-omg-the-feels for the nudge <33 @obnoxiouslycheerfulgirl, because you wanted to see it.

Months after the war with Hybern ended, it was finally the time to celebrate for the residents of the Night Court on their most cherished night of the year-the night of Starfall. All day, the citizens of Velaris kept themselves busy in decorating the city of starlight and setting everything up for the festival. The High Lord and High Lady, as well as their Inner Circle, also lent a hand in painting the city with colors of harmony and peace. By the evening, the streets were crowded with both high and lesser Fae, a crowd of adults and children. Since the wall came down, a few humans who could muster the courage to overcome their fear of the Fae came to the Night Court to witness this unique phenomenon.

Gleeful choruses of laughter and the melodious tunes of music trailed to Azriel’s ears as he stood in the threshold of the garden of the townhouse. He looked out to the festivities and took in the sound of Cassian and Mor bickering over one thing or another behind him in the foyer. Amren was casually perched on the sofa, snuggling with Varian, the Prince of Adriata, who she had invited over from the Summer Court to experience Starfall.

He turned as he heard footsteps and turned to see Rhys and Feyre coming downstairs, hand-in-hand, his High Lady grinning from ear to ear at something Rhys whispered in her ear. They both looked regal and radiant in their attires and were closely followed by Nesta, her eyes clearly searching for Cassian. When their eyes met, she didn’t smile but Az caught a glimmer in her eyes and looked towards Cass to find him smirking at her. He had finally stopped bickering with Mor and she now sauntered her way toward Feyre, probably complementing her outfit for the night and still nagging Rhys to tell her where he got these dresses from. He just winked at her and she stuck his tongue out to him and walked away to grab a bottle of wine from the table. As entertaining as all them were, his eyes still searched for the one person amongst them all who was still to make an appearance.

As if on cue, he felt her. Not quite there yet, but he could sense her coming and just like that, there she was, at the top of the staircase. Azriel’s heart-stopped at the sight of her. Everyone else blacked out from his vision and it was as if there was only him and her in this space. Elain Archeron. She looked like a fragment of the stars themselves as she stood there, her eyes finding his. At the sight of him, her face seemed to brighten with a smile that even lit up his shadows. Fretting nervously, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Dressed in stunning silver, with an undertone of blue, the sheer top half of her bodice was covered in lace designs that lay floral patterns on her chest, torso and along her arms. They continued down to the side of the lower half of the gown, which draped down and pooled around the floor, its chiffon material glimmering. Her golden-brown locks hung in loose waves around her shoulder and only a single, thick braid, bedecked with pearl beads, was plaited on the crown of her head like a headband. A circlet with a moonstone pendant in the center and adjoining charms shaped like stars bejeweled her forehead.

A snow-flake. That’s the first thought that came to Az’s mind and he chided himself for it. But that’s what she reminded him of. A snowflake under the reflection of the moon, something he always found so beautiful in its simplicity. He willed his feet to start moving and approached Elain as she descended down the stairs. Unmindfully, he fixed the collar and lapels of his snug-fitting black embroidered jacket and took his girlfriend’s hand.

A couple months ago, he had finally started courting her when she finally confessed to him that she did not want to be with Lucien. That she did not feel drawn to him, at least not in any romantic way and that she sought and found more of a companion in him. That she loved him and not the man who is supposed to be her mate. Azriel had been taken aback at the revelation but soon after, he was ecstatic. He hadn’t felt this way in centuries about anyone else but Mor, who he had slowly learned to let go of in the recent months; and here she was-this gorgeous, strong-willed girl with a heart so full of love that he was drawn to her from the very beginning.

He could feel everyone in the room still behind him but he didn’t care. Az politely put his right hand forward as he reached the end of the staircase and offered it to Elain. She took it and looked up at him from beneath her lashes.

“Hi” she mumbled. The edges of his mouth tucked up as he responded. “Hello, Elain. You look stunning” and kissed the back of her hand. Azriel quickly noted the blush that now stained her cheeks and the shy smile that played on her lips. With that, he took her hand and placed it on the crook of his elbow and led her to everybody else.

-

After some mockery and chit-chat, the group gathered in the street outside their home to witness Starfall with all the dressed up on-lookers of Velaris. Looking at every one of them, he felt beyond grateful that his family had all survived the war and were now well and happy. They deserved it. Every single person present here deserved it. With that thought, he sensed the music and chatter die down and all the companion lights go off. Shocked, Elain grasped his hand, unsure of what was happening, her brows crinkled in an adorable gesture of worry. He brushed a kiss on her temple and whispered in her ear, “You’ll see”.

And with that, it began. The night sky lit up in a shower of starlight; of effervescent paint that now stained the vast darkness. He took in the sight, the beauty and somehow the falling stars seemed to multiply this year. As he heard from Rhys, they weren’t exactly stars, but souls that chose this one night to make their journey across the heavens. This seemed to be a tribute from the lost souls of the war and so many of the residents sent kisses to the skies, as they then proceeded to drink and dance.

He stole a glance at Elain and found her spell-bound. Her mouth was slightly agape, her eyes widened and gleaming with the reflection of the starlight, hand clutching Azriel’s tightly. “Beautiful” she said, her words barely audible. He drank in the sight before him and locked it away in his memory forever, smiling down at her.

-

Following the star of the celebration, they all drank some champagne and danced. Azriel had Elain in his arms and slowly moved with her, breathing in her scent, basking in the warmth of her body against his. He gently kissed her sometimes, which sent his memories reeling back to their first kiss-it happened during an evening stroll by the Sidra when he was showing her around the city and they stopped to rest. She had leaned into him for warmth and he had his wings tucked around her as she looked up at him and then moved her gaze down to his lips. Normally, he had stellar control, but then and there, he could not muster it and leaned down to make their lips meet. The feel of her mouth, the taste of her was indescribable. He wanted more, but he knew not to push her and cherish as much of her as she’d give to him.

-

They were still slow-dancing when she murmured near his chest, “Azriel?” Resting his chin on top of her head, as he was doing so for a while, he asked, “Hmm?” “Would you come up to my room? I want to show you something.” He moved his face and looked down at her. He gently brushed the back of his hand along her cheekbone as he nodded. Elain took him by his hand and led him inside the house again and up to her chamber.

It was a neat little room, well arranged and organized. It smelled floral and distinctly like the woman he was irrevocably in love with. The curtains were left open, letting in a cool breeze that made the room feel airy and comfortable. Elain stopped just by the terrace that accompanied her room and looked excitedly at a patch of newly-bloomed morning glories. “I always wanted to grow these. There’s something so intriguing about how they just bloom at night; and how ironic their name is. And, now look, they’re finally here”, she grinned up at him. Azriel wrapped an arm around her waist and finally spread his wings, getting some free space. “They’re beautiful, my love” She leaned closer, and bit her lip. Turning to him, she took his scarred hand in hers, brought it up to her mouth and kissed it. Azriel stiffened slightly at the contact and it was now his turn to bite his lips. “Your wings. You. That’s what’s truly beautiful.” She said to him, a glazed look in her eyes as she traced a finger down a wing. He shuddered and closed his eyes. “Are you okay?” she asked, unaware of how delicate an Illyrians’ wings were. Normally, he’d object to anyone even thinking of touching his wings but with her, with Elain, he felt safe. And he wanted her touch. So, so bad. “Yes” he said hoarsely. “They can be a little…sensitive to things” She nodded but continued to trail her fingers along them, as if memorizing every nook and curve that forged those mighty wings. Every layer of color they shone. He gripped her tighter around the waist, gasping out her name when she lifted her face up to kiss him.

-

Elain barely just brushed her lips against his and felt a soft whimper escape his mouth. Azriel held her tight but was standing so very still, looking at her with something more than just love. She stood on her tiptoes and moved to kiss him properly now and he obliged. Both their eyes shuttered close; one of his hands moved to cup her face while the other moved along her waist and grabbed the edge. Her own hand curled itself on the back of the Illyrian’s neck while her free fingers entwined in his dark hair. The sky was still illuminated with starlight and they reflected off of his night black hair, giving them a silver sheen.

Their kiss deepened as Azriel gently opened her mouth with his tongue and started exploring. A little moan escaped Elain which in return got a low, satisfactory groan from him. He broke the kiss to trail his lips along the lines of the jaw, just behind her ear and down the exposed collar of her neck. She arched to his touch, allowing him more access. He grazed his teeth along the exposed flesh and she gasped.

Az look at her, eyes glazed with barely contained lust, hair an unruly mess that was her doing. They both knew where this was heading. “Elain, are you sure you want this?” he asked earnestly, still holding her close. She had never gone this far with a male. Even being engaged to Graysen, they did nothing more than kiss, saving themselves for their wedding night. She always thought that’s how it’d be. That she’d be married to a wonderful human man, they’d have a lovely marriage, a happy home and a flock of beautiful children. But all that had been a fantasy. No, she was a High Fae now. None of that would be real. There would be no human end for her and she might have felt the loss of it at the beginning of her transition, but not now. Not anymore. Back there, she would perhaps have been shunned for sharing a bed with any other male but her husband, so she would hold back. But not in Prythian. No, here, everyone owned up to their sexuality. And it was oddly liberating. Here, she felt free. And healed-and all for this extraordinary male that now held her, who accepted her and loved. She wanted to be with him. She wanted to give him everything. This, her first time, she didn’t want to experience it with anyone but him. “Yes, Azriel. Yes” she said to him, voice steady, with no flicker of doubt in her mind.

That was all it took for him to delve right into her. He kissed her passionately; rougher than before as if some part of him he kept chained became unleashed at her approval. Az’s hands explored her body and every touch of his was electric. She let her hands roam over his body; the hard planes of his chest, the lean stomach, the smooth, warm skin of his neck. He turned Elain toward the room and led her inside, never breaking their kiss. Her hands started fumbling with the buttons of his jacket and he helped her unbutton it. She took it off of him and threw it away. Breaking their kiss yet again, she proceeded to look at him.

There he was, bare from the waist up. She noticed his stomach was corded with muscles as she moved her fingers along his chiseled chest, banded with black, Illyrian tattoos, and torso. Those majestic wings framed him, hiding everything in the background from view. They were massive. The colors hidden in their skin seemed to shimmer under the starlight. His shadows were barely there, as if something kept them at bay. Azriel seemed to shudder at her very touch and she could slowly start to feel his hardness against her core.

Elain slowly turned and had her back to Azriel, unclasping any jewelry she had on and laying it on a table nearby. She moved her hair from her back placed it over her right shoulder, clearly signaling for him to unzip her. With steady hands, he oh-so-slowly undid her zipper. He grazed his fingers along her shoulders and started pushing her sleeves down. Her blood turned to liquid fire at every point of contact and she let the dress fall to the floor and pool around her feet. She now stood there, just in her white lace panties, barer than she’d ever been, even in front of her sisters. She felt Az inch closer and lean down to place feather-like kisses along her exposed shoulder and she threw her head back at the feel of it and sighed.  Catching her unawares, he bit her shoulder, making her cry out from pleasure. She could now start to feel warmth pulling between her legs like never before.

Az turned his lover around and took in the sight of her, bathed in gleaming star-shine. His eyes took in her in pert breasts; nipple peaked in arousal, down to her torso, her stomach and skimmed along her bare legs. His eyes shone with carnal hunger as he moved to lay her down on the bed and then place himself atop her.

One of his hands had her by the neck and the other grabbing onto her thigh, moving inward. Those wicked fingers of his caressed the skin just below her bare breasts. His other hand also stroked lazy, indolent circles along the inside of her thigh, building up her anticipation, teasing. She felt his hardness right between her legs as her hunger for him grew and she started moving along it. Azriel exhaled hard and looked up at her from her neck. Breathless, he asked.

"What do you want, Elain?"

"You. Every inch of you"

At that, a satisfactory growl from deep within escaped him and he gave her a long, hard kiss. His mouth moved down to the skin of her chest, and lower to her hardened nipple. He sucked on it gently, at the same time rising the index finger and thumb of his hand to roll and stroke her other breast and nipple. He gave that one the same treatment, only biting down making her gasp.

The ache was increasingly growing at her core and she needed him. She made a strained noise to alert him of how badly she wanted him and he smirked. He seemed to have gotten the hint. His lips landed featherlike kissed down her stomach and kissed her between her legs over her white lace panties before taking them off of her. He lifted himself up a little to look down at her, devouring every inch of her with his eyes. The ravenous look in them drove Elain mad.

Az started with her thighs, kissing the inside of it and sucking on the skin and kept moving inwards. With every inch forward, the kisses became more light and teasing. She was ready for his mouth; there was nowhere forward to go. Except....he stopped and kissed her everywhere BUT where she needed him most.

"Please Azriel..”

"Patience, my lady" he replied with a cocky grin.

She made a cry of protest but he just laughed from between her legs and damn her, this just made her want him more.

At his lick, she turned molten.

"Fuck, Elain. You're drenched"

"Mmmm" was all she got out as he continued feasting on her-licking, sucking, probing her with his skilled tongue. Soon enough, he pushed a finger inside her. And then another, stroking her just where she wanted him as well as continuing to taste her. This pushed her over the edge and she cried out his name as she lost all sense and reason. She came relentlessly over his mouth.

As she was calming down from her first orgasm, he got up on his knees and discarded off his tight fitting pants and by the cauldron, she almost came undone from the sight of him. The dark hair, deep, hazel eyes, the sculpted body, the whorls of his tattoo; the hard length of him all dressed in the silvery light of the stars leaking through her window-he looked like a fallen prince- with powerful wings that now cocooned them, a lust-addled look on his face.

He lowered his mouth down onto hers, kissing her rough and hard and wrapped her legs around his waist, positioning his tip on her entrance and gently rubbing. She was drenched again, completely ready for him. Yet still, he looked into Elain's eyes, a silent question still. She nodded. And just like that he slowly pushed himself inside her and let her adjust to it. It hurt just a little at the beginning but soon, the pleasure had overridden the initial pain. When she was comfortable, he started moving and she had no way to hold back her scandalous moans as she lost herself to the ecstasy of the full feel of him inside her. Azriel himself was panting and moaning, a sound that set her blood on fire and when they both came together, he called out her name. The intensity of it burned through her, making light explode behind her eyes.

“I love you, Elain. I don’t deserve you. But damn me, because I can’t not find myself around you”, he said afterwards, still lingering inside her. “And I love you, Azriel. You deserve everything and more”

-

Azriel fell asleep before Elain did. He left a kiss on her forehead before he passed out and was now sprawled there covered up to the waist in her white sheets, an arm tucked under her neck, holding her close. She leaned down and softly kissed his cheek. He shuffled slightly and wrapped her in tighter in his arm and wings and went on with his slumber. In the aftermath of their deed, they had laid there for hours talking and laughing with each other. A certain topic of “wingspans” had also come up till they at last had snuggled in comfortable silence and till the male beside her passed out.

[separatist-apologist]

I can see Eris telling embarrassing stories about Lucien to Elain and Lucien just has to sit there and take it. Do a one shot of that!

YES this is what I'm talking about.

Lucien had meant to be back sooner, honestly. Velaris was starting to grow on him, despite the brutally cold winter that seemed unending. He supposed the winter was made tolerable by the fact that his mate, sweet, kind Elain, was practically living in his apartment in the city. He hadn’t formally asked her to stay forever—though it was very much implied—and she hadn’t mentioned going back home since they’d spent the night together two months earlier. She just…quietly continued to bring things over and fold them neatly in his drawers, and Lucien acted like everything was very normal and he was not waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He would have been home before the sun set had it not been for another of Jurian and Vassa’s squabbles. He’d been roped in the middle, unable to escape despite the fact that he was very aware their fights were just foreplay, foreplay he very much did not want to be part of.

He was eager to see Elain, to see if she’d added another plant to the window or if she’d rearranged another room in his apartment to her liking or just to feel her arms around his neck, her breathless words welcoming him home with her bright, shining eyes. He slid his key into the front door, practically squirming in the cold as wind whipped his hair around his face. He heard soft voices laughing in the living room, silenced when the door closed behind him.

“Lucien?” Elain called, the sound of her footsteps echoing down the hall. She appeared, her eyes bright, cheeks stained red with laughter.

“Sorry I’m late,” he told her, hanging his cloak on a hook by the door before he pulled her against him. “Do we have company or can we go upstairs…and talk?”

She flushed at the innuendo, her fingers toying with his hair. “We do. I hope you don’t mind but—”

“Baby Lucien,” Eris crooned from the hall, arms crossed over his chest. “I stopped by to bring my sister a gift and she was so kind to offer me dinner.”

“Eris has been telling me stories about your childhood,” Elain added breathlessly, clearly somehow charmed by the eldest Vanserra. Lucien held Elain to his chest, looking over her head with narrowed eyes at the mock innocence on his brother’s face.

“Oh?”

Eris grinned wickedly. “Such a curious, lovely mate you have.”

Lucien forced himself to smile because Elain was gazing up at him with such admiration and he couldn’t bring himself to ruin her good mood.

“Eris brought me a fern from the Forest House,” Elain added breathlessly, tugging Lucien by the hand to the living room to show him her newest acquisition. She’d hung the leafy plant from the ceiling, no doubt with Eris’ help given how short she was, from one of her knitted pot holders.

“They don’t require too much sun,” Eris explained innocently. With Elain’s back turned to Lucien, he gestured wildly for Eris to get the fuck out.

“What? I didn’t understand what you said,” Eris drawled, drawing Elain’s attention back towards the pair of them. Eris promptly sat back on Lucien’s cream-colored sofa, ankle crossed over his knee, and reached for his delicate white and pink tea cup that seemed so out of place in his hands. Elain scurried to the other seat, leaving Lucien to occupy a chair across the room. She began pouring tea from her porcelain, flower etched tray, sitting neatly atop his dark wooden coffee table, clearly meant for him.

“I was telling Elain about the time you came running through the throne room in nothing but your cloak,” Eris began, amusement curling his words. “Do you remember?”

Lucien closed his eyes for a beat, trying not to remember how the courtiers laughed for years after, how they’d made veiled jokes about his penis well into adulthood.

Elain looked up, pouring cream and scooping sugar into his cup exactly as he liked it. She was an angel, he decided. He would allow Eris this memory to make her happy, but afterwards he would make up for his suffering by dragging her off to his bed and refusing to let her leave for the rest of the night…and most of the next day.

“I was six,” he reminded Eris.

“True. Tell Elain about the gang you started. What were they called, again?” Eris, the actual devil, asked. Elain turned, eyebrows raised.

“You had a gang?” She asked him with such wide-eyed optimism it took everything in his body not to slide down his chair. Lucien took the tea cup from her hands, fingers brushing her knuckles. Maybe he could flood the bond with all the sexually inappropriate things he’d like to do to her and she’d get distracted and tell Eris to shove it—

“We weren’t a gang,” he muttered, burning his mouth as he took a drink. “We just had matching jackets.”

“So you did,” Eris replied, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hold in his laughter. Eris was unmatched in this arena, considering by the time Lucien had been born, Eris had been in his thirties, a man in all the ways that counted. It certainly didn’t help that Lucien, a boy who didn’t know any better, had hero worshipped his eldest brother, giving Eris a front-row seat to the most awkward years of his life.

“I think that’s sweet,” Elain assured Lucien earnestly.

“What did you want to be when you grew up, Elain?” Eris asked, evil gleam in his eye. She thought about it for a moment, really considering his question as though it had any merit and wasn’t just another opportunity for Eris to embarrass Lucien.

“I wanted to own a little flower shop,” she told the pair of them. Eris hesitated, some emotion warring in his expression.

“Do you need a financial backer? Why haven’t you done it?” Eris demanded while Lucien chuckled from his chair. Eris might be embarrassing him, but Elain very clearly had Eris wrapped around her finger.

“Ask him for a dog,” Lucien prodded. Elain’s eyes went wide but Eris was one step ahead.

“Do you want a puppy?”

“I—”

“I’ll let you know when the next litter is born,” Eris interrupted smoothly. “And Lucien wanted to be a mommy when he a boy.”

“Really?” Elain asked breathlessly. “You want children?”

Lucien and Eris’ eyes met and Lucien couldn’t resist the smug smirk he levied at his brother. Fuck you, he knew his expression screamed. You just did me a major favor.

“Sorry I loved my mom when I was little,” Lucien told Eris smoothly while Elain stared at Lucien with bright, affectionate eyes. “And yeah, I want to be a dad. Do you want—”

“Nope,” Eris interrupted quickly, standing. “Way to ruin a fun day, Lucien. Elain, you have been lovely,” he assured her, sweeping into a deep bow. “Please keep in touch…I’m sure there are more Autumn flowers that would look stunning in your home. I’ll let you know about the puppies, too…though keep this one away from their treats. He used to eat them.

Lucien slid down the back of his chair at Eris’ words, embarrassment heating his cheeks when Elain giggled.

“Lucien…be nice to my sister.” Eris finished before striding out of the room. Elain, an immaculate hostess, followed after him to thank him for the afternoon and welcome him back whenever. Lucien wished she wasn’t so liberal with her time or their home when it came to Eris. She returned to the living room a moment later, a smile tugging on her pretty, pink lips. Lucien stood, arms extended, and pulled her into his chest.

“I don’t get why everyone dislikes him,” she said with a sweet sigh. “He’s nice.”

“He’s a menace,” Lucien disagreed. She looked up, chin pressed against his tunic.

“Maybe…but it’s pretty obvious he adores you.”

Lucien scoffed. “Adores embarrassing me, maybe.”

Elain sighed, tucking herself into his embrace. “Were you embarrassed? I thought his stories were sweet.” Perhaps Eris misjudged Elain, he thought, stroking her hair. While Eris had been trying to get a rise out of Lucien, maybe Eris had inadvertently made Lucien look better in her eyes. He couldn’t be angry about that, he decided. He’d take what he could get.

“What was the name of your gang?” She asked, interrupting his musings with a soft giggle. Lucien groaned. “The dandy-lions…because we were…we were both fierce with swords…and the ladies.”

Elain was shaking with laughter, her face pressed into his chest to muffle the sound. “That’s…no…that’s so cute. I’m not laughing at you I swear…you were…what—”

“Fifteen,” he grumbled as a new wave of laughter overtook her. It took her a moment to calm herself enough to gasp out, “That’s nice that you had friends.”

Lucien swept her up and turned towards the stairs. “What are you doing?” She asked, her words breathless for an entirely different reasons, hands clinging to his neck.

“Living up to my reputation,” he replied. Elain dissolved into a new fit of giggles even as Lucien tossed her on his bed.

“Fierce with the ladies?” She asked, reaching for a pillow to shove over her face while her shoulders shook.

“Exactly,” he agreed.

[imagineifmattyhealy-blog]

III.

He had finished collecting the glass and brushed past her to put it in the bin.

“Let me see, you might have a bit of glass in it.” He spoke softly, treading carefully.

“I don’t.” Abrupt.

“How do you know? You a doctor?”

“No, but I’d know if there was glass under my skin because I’m not an idiot.” She snapped.

“Right, well, clearly my assistance isn’t wanted.” He walked off again. “Fucking try to help even when you’re being a little bitch and all I get is shit in return.” He mumbled but she heard him.

“Don’t call me a bitch!” She screamed, turning towards him again.

“You are though. You’re using a fucking party as an excuse to start shit between me and Gabby because you don’t like her. You’ve never liked her, you never will like her. I get that, Eva, okay? But I do, and I like having her in my life because she makes me happy, and if you want to stay in my life then start respecting that.” He yelled, it was time he lay down the law, he would tell Gabby the same as well, but he wouldn’t let Eva know that just now.

“So, what about all the times when I tried to be happy? With Nico, with Lucien, with Jack. You couldn’t respect any of them. You made it your mission to make it known to them that I was yours and only ever would be yours.” She was crying now and now he was the one avoiding eye contact because he knew she was right, he was selfish.

“I could be engaged right now. Possibly even have a baby. But I don’t. All because I’m sitting on my arse, waiting about for you. But, I’ve waited nine years and I’m not doing it anymore.” She concluded, walking towards the door. She tried to pull it open but he slammed it shut and pressed her against it. His eyes were demonic as his hands went to her throat, she knew there was a possibility that he would hurt her, psychically, he’d done it before.

“Go on then. Do it. Do it.” She taunted. “Fucking do it!” She screamed as tears raced down her face.

“I’m fucking sick of you!” He raged, grabbing the side of her arms and forcefully swinging her away from the door and pushing her so she fell on the bed.

She watched him apprehensively as he paced back and forth in front of her. She sat up slightly, adjusting the strap of her dress that had fallen off her shoulder due to the force of his push.

“You know what, Eva, you’re right. This has gone on for nine years now and that’s far too long. It’s time to stop. We’ll end everything here right now and you can go get all those things that you think I’ve stopped you from having, when really, it’s you that’s stopped yourself from having all this fucking shit.” She became wide-eyed. As much as she wanted this to end, she was hoping for him to beg for her, claim that he would end everything with Gabby and finally be with her, not for him to put an end to it himself.

His words triggered something within her. She wasn’t serious about all of this. She knew that subconsciously, she just didn’t want to believe it. But, she wanted to be strong, she just wanted to scare him a little bit, show him that he couldn’t survive without her. But, ultimately, it was him that scared her, it was her that couldn’t survive without him. The thought of not having him in her life terrified her. He was all she had ever known. He was all she ever wanted to know. At the same time, though, it was just another reason for her to hate him and hate the hold he had over her.

“You’re so fucking quick to blame me for all of this when I can never remember having to force you against your will to get your knickers off. No, in fact, many times you did that quite willingly without me even having to ask.” He was seething, she could tell, and that only meant one thing. When Matthew got angry, he just simply could not control what came out of his mouth, it was like he refused to listen to himself. Maybe he did refuse because he knew he could be vicious, he knew he could say the right things to hurt her.

“Do you know what I think your problem is with Gabby? I think you’re jealous of her.” He shrugged.

“Don’t be fucking stupid.” With tears streaming down her face, she pulled a shit façade of trying to prove that she was dismissing what he was saying. Grudgingly, she would have to admit - but never to him or Gabby – that maybe she was jealous. Constantly comparing herself to Gabby – looks, body, even the most minor details of who was more tan, who had the whiter teeth.

“You are. You see it as her having what you want, what you’ll never have, because unlike you, E, Gabby has respect for herself.”

“Oh yeah, basically stripping off in some shit indie music video and basically riding the guy’s cock is respecting herself isn’t it!” She knew what he was entailing. Again, he was calling her a slut. He ignored her though, continuing on with his outburst.

“Do you know how long it was before I could even get a finger inside her? Fucking three months. Any time I got off with her I’d have to come find you because I knew she wouldn’t give me anything but you would.” He was being crude, she didn’t want to imagine him with his tongue down her throat, desperately trying to get his hand down her knickers and getting sexually frustrated when she pushed him off. She also knew what times he was talking about, they were dating but not officially together and she found that he was coming to her quite a lot which she found suspicious because, usually, when he got a new girlfriend, like Gemma, they probably wouldn’t have sex for a good couple of months, him claiming that he was going to try and be faithful, but he just couldn’t. So, he came to her, and she allowed him, not complaining, instead misreading the situation for him not really being that into Gabby. Maybe that’s why she was so shocked when she had heard Caroline, George and Daniel mumbling about how she was going to be pissed when she found out. Apparently everyone knew before she did, which really did piss her off.

“And all of those times I was thinking about her. I almost actually said her name a couple of times.” He bent down to look at her in her eyes but she was avoiding his stare, instantly becoming timid and very self-conscious.

“You’re lying.” She whispered. She wouldn’t believe that anything he was saying was true. He was just trying to hurt her.

“I’m not though, love. I was thinking about her when I was with you because I wanted to be with that girl and I wanted to imagine what she was like. I want to be with her now. I want to be with her for a very long time. I don’t ever want to be with you, because, you’re a slag, Eva.” She slapped him then, standing up she punched at his chest proclaiming him to be a liar.

“All I’ve ever did was love you!” She screamed as she continuously slapped and punched as his chest. He amused her for a few minutes before pushing her down again on the bed.

“But, I don’t fucking love you!” It was the words that had left his mouth that caused him to somewhat come to his senses, to realise what it was that he was doing. He didn’t mean it, but it was too far gone now. He watched as her eyes revealed how she was feeling. Broken. Again. Because of him. Again.

“Alright?! I know I told you that I did but I only said that because I felt sorry for you. I don’t want you. I don’t want to ever be with you. And, even if you did fuck things up for me and Gabby tonight it would never change anything. It wouldn’t make me want you. I’d try to get back with her because I love her and if it didn’t work I’d be broken but I’d hopefully get over and I’d find someone else but it would never be you. So, really, Eva, what’s the fucking point?” He puffed. He himself couldn’t believe the lies that were coming out of his mouth. It was too late, though.

He waited for her next outburst, but it never came. Instead, she looked defeated, as though he had just clarified her worst fear. And, he had. She was taken aback, hurt, broken by his words. But, she supposed she always knew what he was saying was true. And, he was right. What would the point be now in trying to ruin his relationship? He’s just admitted that it wouldn’t make any difference to her. She would never get what she wanted.

“Finally. Matthew Healy finally tells me something true.” She smiled sadly as she stood up and walked past him and back to her wine, she needed it now more than ever. She stood there, gulping it down when she heard the room door slam shut. He was gone. She broke down then, falling to her knees, sobbing her broken heart out. After nine years she now finally knew where she stood with him.

As he walked to the elevator, the tears brimmed his eyes and he wiped them harshly with his suit jacket sleeve. If only she knew how ironic and untrue her last words to him were. He was too stubborn though, and in his current mind set he didn’t want to go back and take everything back, he wanted to go and get his girlfriend and his mates and get battered.

---

Third part, hope you all like! 

Thanks very much for all the likes on the last two posts as well, I’m glad that you lovelies are enjoying so far! 

I’ll try and get the next part up within a few days. I’m doing this thing where, currently, I’m just about to be snowed under with college coursework like fucking essays and exams so with each essay I complete/exam I study for I’m going to write a bit more and try to keep up to speed with updates so that I’m (somewhat) motivated to do the coursework and I also get to post this nonsense for you gorgeous people! 

Anyways, please let me know what you guys think of it and if you have any ideas please don’t hesitate to tell me! 

Until next time xo